


To Love A Warrior

by missema



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, End of the World, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Flirting, Freeform, Friendship, Kissing, Mages, Magic, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Templars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 33,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Herald of Andraste leads the Inquisition, even before it is declared.  Such weighty titles and responsibilities come with adventures and scrutiny.  Phedre Trevelyan wasn't born to the part of lady turned savior, but she'll play it as well as she can.  Falling in love and flat on her face are just bumps along that road.</p><p>Alternately titled "Observations and Conversations".  WIP, drabbles and short stories mixed in with longer chapters, updates irregular but hopefully soonish.  Probably will bump the rating up once the pair gets together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - In Kirkwall

It was days like this when Knight-Commander Cullen envied Guard-Captain Aveline. Her guards followed her mandate to remain safe above all else. Come back alive at the end of the shift. Her men loved her for it, and she stood guard over all of them as a captain should, a shield for those under her, a beacon for the common folk.

He would do well to imitate her example, but what was safety to a Templar? There was danger in their very jobs, but who besides they could stand against magic? Kirkwall needed them, even long after the so-called order had been restored. The city was still in a state of ruin, no matter what efforts he and his men put into it, or whatever money the Viscount could manage to scrape together as emergency funds. Had it been a year since the Chantry exploded? Cullen couldn't tell anymore, his days and nights were a seamless shade of grey in his memory. Nothing brought hope enough to add color to his vision, and at this point he'd just accepted it.

A knock on his door brought him from his maudlin thoughts and he crossed to open it. He knew who it would be, for the short Rivaini woman was the reason he sat in his office. She accepted his greeting with a soft word of hello and sat in the chair he indicated as he resumed his own.

"I am sorry to have to deliver such bad news messere." He told her, but the woman shook her head at him. The motion seemed to shake him awake, and he watched transfixed as the black sheet of her braided hair fall back into place around her round face after the small movement. She was younger than he expected, but had dark circles under the hollows of her eyes. Signs of worry and too little sleep recently.

"My brother was always headstrong. At least it only cost him a leg and not his life. I've just seen him - he'll be fine." She pronounced, conviction lacing her words. She needed to believe them, so he nodded though he knew that the effects of the injury could still be worse than the loss of a leg. The exhuberant young knight would suffer mentally as well, and that wound needed to be tended more closely than the stump of a leg. 

"The Order provides for those injured in the course of their holy duty. We will see that he is pensioned and provided for." He said. A bag of money sat between them on the desk and he pushed it towards her. She accepted it with a nod, but didn't pick it up.

Her voice was soft and breathy, and she had a delicateness about her that made him feel almost protective. In some small way she embodied the battered and tired populace of Kirkwall, here she was calmly in his office taking coin after an accident debilitated her brother. She wasn't the first family member to come pay him such a visit, but after each one, he hoped it was the last. She had no blame or anger for him in her eyes, just resoluteness for her brother's sake. In her place, Cullen would not have been so placid, but there was much that plagued him these days.

"They said we should go, that we should leave, but I couldn't convince him to go after the battle. He wanted to stay and help, so I stayed and helped." She shook her head again, and Cullen recognized that the motion wasn't one of confusion but an unconscious effort to clear her head. He remained silent. 

After a minute passed with her lost to her own thoughts, she looked back up at him and gave a heavy sigh. "My husband was a soldier, and he trained my brother. They were close, but Marvyn didn't want to serve a lord or join the guard. He was always pious, devoted. We will continue to help, Knight-Commander, if we can."

The declaration left Cullen flustered for a moment. "Thank you, messere. That's...very kind. Ser Marvyn will of course be offered a chance to serve in another capacity, if he wishes."

"It's a terrible thing to love warriors." The woman mused, worrying her full lower lip with small white teeth. "I hope your wife fares better than I did."

"I am not married." Cullen said, and she clucked at him. It reminded him of home, of an older sister's admonishment that he hadn't heard since he was a much younger man. 

"Then take my advice, Knight-Commander and save your heart the trouble. Do not love a warrior, or it may be you on the other side of this desk one day."

She let those be her parting words. A quick hand took the purse he'd offered from the surface of his cluttered desk without rattling the coins and it disappeared into a skirt pocket. He got up to hold the door for her, let her small smile soothe his guilt and remorse about her brother and closed the door.

"Do not love a warrior."

He wondered what love was as she spoke of it, for it had been years since its strings had pulled on his heart. There was always compassion, he had that in spades for the poor souls he still served in Kirkwall, and his ever-present sense of duty that drove him. But love flummoxed him, and was as distant to his mind as his family in Ferelden, because though he'd known infatuation and lust before, Cullen knew nothing of love save for familial love. Kirkwall painted a gloomy horizon for him and he saw no end to it, not with the mages and templars warring openly now. He would have duty, and that might be enough, but he doubted he would ever love a warrior as the small woman had warned him not to. Perhaps that was his only luck in the dreariness of his reality.


	2. Herald of Change

They were calling the woman the Herald of Andraste. It didn't matter if that was true, because that's what they were going to let her be called, according to Cassandra. Cullen wasn't sure how he felt about it - a mage woman who was barely clinging to life after a cataclysmic explosion of obviously magical origins, given such a lofty title. But what she was called was the least of the problems in the world right now, and he didn't have much time to think on it. Should she live that would be a different story.

At least that was what he'd thought in the beginning. She did live, and a report from Josephine told him her real name. It was a shame, because he'd just been making his peace with the title the "Herald of Andraste" when he was informed that she was called Phedre Trevelyan. She was a Circle mage from a noble family in Ostwick. He wasn't nobility himself but was familiar with some of the names of the nobility of the Free Marches from his time in Kirkwall. Trevelyan sounded familiar but didn't immediately bring any information to the forefront of his mind. Josephine filled in the blanks for him - they were wealthy, established, pious and a large family, but she knew little of Lady Phedre. That would be for them to discover on their own, he suspected.

What surprised him was that once she was awake, he could almost like Lady Phedre. She was obviously thrown by her new celebrity, the rapid change in her status making her suspicious and a little disagreeable, though she had enough wit to keep up with Varric. Cassandra was impressed by her prowess in a fight, though like Cullen she had her reservations about fighting alongside a mage. Still, she was Circle trained, loyal and disciplined. If it had to be a mage, better it was the somewhat surly Lady Phedre than a vainglorious mess seeking to make themselves a symbol of righteousness.

The lady herself was taking it hard, he could tell. Lady Trevelyan often stood on the bluff and overlooked Haven's destroyed temple or up at the Breach. She was hardly the only person to do so, but he found himself watching her carefully, worried about the thoughts that must have been swirling through her mind as she stared silently into the distance. 

"Are you alright?" Cullen asked her. She'd been out on the bluff over the water, looking out for at least a quarter of an hour. Every time he'd looked up from another report, she'd still been standing there, cold wind and snow blowing around her knees.

Lady Trevelyan snorted at his question, startling him with the coarseness of it. "Sure, I'm fine. Who wouldn't be after falling out the fucking Fade?" So she was still angry, and probably searching for an explanation through all of her contemplation. He let silence be his answer, and expected her to turn away from him and his concern. She didn't. 

"I am sorry. That was shitty. I mean, that was unworthy of me. Thank you for your concern, Commander." She said, her voice much lower as she offered her apology. He noticed that she didn't try to answer his original question again in some polite manner, only apologized for the way in which she said it. At least she was honest and remembered her good manners in time.

"It's alright." Cullen said. "It must be a lot to take in." 

"It is." She answered, then turned on her heel and went back towards Haven. There was no sugar in those words, but he suspected that she had little of that in her even before she'd gone through this ordeal. He watched her leave, disappearing behind the great wooden doors. Though he was sympathetic to the impossible situation that was thrust upon her, she'd have to get over her self-pity soon, or they were all doomed.


	3. Unaccustomed to the Elements

Sleeping on the fucking ground was for, well, things that were made to sleep outside, not people like her. Phedre woke up sore and hardly rested, though any sleep was welcome most nights. Haven seemed like a goddamned palace compared to most of their camps in the Hinterlands, and just a few weeks before Haven would have been the last place she'd ever bed down.

Circumstance changed much, and Phedre had to roll along with them. She groaned as she got up, shivering as she left the warmth of her bedroll. Cassandra had already departed their tent, but she doubted the warrior had been gone for very long. The ache in her back took her attention as she carefully flexed, trying to soothe the angry muscle. This couldn't be any easier for anyone else, so she kept her complaints to herself, knowing that neither Cassandra or Varric could be having an easier time. Solas who was so long used to sleeping in strange places, might just find the tents and camps confining.

The Hinterlands might have been a pretty place, if not for the war. It had all the makings of loveliness, and Phedre suspected that it might just be one of the more hospitable stretches of terrain she'd cover. The trails were easy and civilization was never _that_  far away, so she really shouldn't complain about it.

Truth be told, she missed the Circle. It seemed a horrible thing to admit, since so many people were busy asking her what she thought of her confinement and the templars and the war. Until she'd met the members of the Inquisition, the realities of the harshness of Circle life outside of Ostwick had seemed unreal to her. Completely cut off from civilization and treated like barbarians - who wouldn't go mad when kept in a prison? Mayhap that was too kind of a comparison, for even prisoners get released. It hadn't been like that for her. She spent two solid months with her family, one during summer at their summer estate, the other at wintersend and assorted holidays inbetween. Confinement to the Circle had been a mere idea and not a reality for her.

She didn't want to think back now, only forward. There was little time for nostalgia and no point in it to her mind. The war was no longer an abstract but in her face as real as can be with the smell of blood and carrion birds lingering on the corpses on the sides of the road. She was determined to save as many people from it as she could, if they would take her help and that of the fledgling Inquisition. First, she'd have to save herself from the Chantry. There was no helping others until one helped themselves, or so the Chant taught her.

"Maker help me, I'm too old for this sleeping on the ground shit." Varric grumbled as he came out of his tent.

Phedre hid her smile but he still saw it and answered with a wary grin. More than missing the comforts of home or the sureness of it, she missed her friends. Hopefully this Inquisition wouldn't get all of the people that could become her friends killed.


	4. Murrah

Josephine was really rather surprised by how much she liked the Herald of Andraste. She'd known Trevelyans in the past and some were...difficult. Phedre seemed to be one of the few that lived up to the family motto of "Modest in temper, Bold in deed". It was unfortunate that she so heartily indulged in sarcasm, but Josephine suspected that was caused by a life on the outskirts of nobility, a part of the tedious social standards but also shut away due to her magic. She was both insider and out, though Josephine wasn't sure which Phedre preferred. Perhaps the woman herself wasn't sure of it either.

Lady Phedre certainly looked like a Trevelyan, even if didn't favor her kinsmen in temperment. She had the hair, which tended towards red in most of them, though it was especially strong in the males. Josephine recalled Lady Phedre's father, the Bann, and he had the dark, russet red hair that his daughter had. Thinking on it, father and daughter shared many features, the small, almond shaped eyes and pointed chin. Thanks to her Rivaini mother Phedre's skin was bronze, with full lips, and the strange, captivating eyes that always made Leliana comment on how lovely they were. Her eyes were amber colored, almost brown around the outside but violet just in the center. Josephine had to admit, they were beautiful but they unsettled her, as if they saw too much and revealed nothing.

She sighed, and looked back down at the war table, waiting on the Herald's arrival to redirect their efforts. They would have to leave Haven, but she wasn't sure when or where they would go. Well, the when was clear in that it would be when the Breach was closed, but she had no way of knowing when that might come about. She could only see the smallest pieces of the Herald's plans, the fullness of it revealed by combining what she knew with Leliana and Cullen.

The session at the table was short and decisive, and Josephine had to add this to the list of qualities she liked about Lady Phedre. She knew her mind, and though she often took their counsel, it was never because she didn't know what to do. It was always a consideration of all options, though she tended to like to move with secrecy more often than not. Leliana approved of the caution and discretion, but then, she would. 

Lady Phedre was difficult to read at the best of times. Her face carefully kept from displaying too much, though she did scowl far more than a lady should. The smiles were rarer, and to Josephine's mind, truer. Knowing these small things didn't help her much understand the woman at the moment, but any good ambassador knew to file away even the smallest bits of information for later. They might be mere brushstrokes in the larger picture, but more would be revealed to her as the Inquisition went on.

A pile of correspondence was neatly stacked on top of her desk, newest first. It had appeared in the short time she'd been in the war room, so these were all new missives. One was set to the side, and when Josephine looked at it, she could see why. It was addressed to Lady Phedre, with all of her various middle names written out in a most elegant hand. Josephine studied it for a moment, debated opening the letter and then turned it over and decided against it. The wax seal bore the crest of the Trevelyan family. 

Her runner tracked down Lady Phedre with no difficulty and Josephine produced the letter for her.

"It seems a member of your family has tracked you down, Lady Trevelyan." Josephine remarked upon handing the letter to Phedre. When she expected a scowl from the other woman, none came. 

Phedre glanced at the letter and then tucked it into an inside pocket. "It's from Murrah." She said, the explanation not clarifying anything for Josephine. "My mother." She said.

There was something about the stillness of her that made Josephine hyperaware that she was missing something. There was significance to the letter, despite the nonchalance with which Lady Phedre had taken it and put it away. Before she could speak, the moment passed and Phedre was thanking her and striding out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murrah is a Gullah word for mother. I thought it probable that parts of Rivain could have evolved linguistically into its own Gullah-type language, taking loan words from the Qun and Antiva as well, but Phedre is a Marcher and only knows what few Mother's side of the family weaves into their regular conversations.
> 
> Gullah Glossary - http://gullahtours.com/gullah/gullah-words


	5. On Love For A Daughter

The paper still smelled faintly like her  
the scent of hugs and soft arms with a strong grip  
it was her mother, not home, because  
homes aren't made out of people

"My daughter,  
let the historians decided   
how you'll be remembered  
and just do what you know to be right  
trust to yourself  
and let the mistakes be made  
you're not supposed to prevent them all

Long have I wished for you to be free  
but I always thought you'd come back to us  
Though I don't resent that   
your path is farther afield  
You are meant  
for different trails  
that might never tread back   
to where you were born  
but will always lead home

My hopes are carried in these words  
that you are warmed by more than hearths  
and that friends surround you  
that you are kissed as often as you like  
and well, or not at all  
that the world you help shape  
is a place where we can all  
have more hope  
and that changing it  
doesn't use up yours

My daughter  
be as safe  
as it is possible to be  
when changing the world  
and go with   
all my love"


	6. A Festooned Marketplace

Val Royeaux is a riot of colors and smells and sounds upon their arrival. The summer market is like the woman that wears the most scandalous dress to a party, and Phedre cannot take her eyes away from it the way she wouldn't be able to from a red dress in a sea of blues and whites and greys. It is festooned, overdone, too bright and altogether glorious - in the way that she has always heard that Orlais can be.

The air is scented with a mixture of Chantry incense, baking pastry and the perfume of the nobles that mill about so elegantly in the marketplace. The people of the crowd look openly at the blazing eye of the Seekers so prominent across Cassandra's chest that for a moment Phedre is caught up in their curiosity too and looks at the Seeker with an outsiders gaze.

She is statuesque and beautiful with her scarred cheeks and proud face. She looks confident and deadly, and Phedre slips back into familiarity to think on it. She knows that Cassandra's outward confidence does not extend beyond the shell it makes. The Seeker was worried about this trip, her anxiety increased by Leliana's messenger at the gates. For all that she looked the same as always, Phedre could sense her hesitation and uncertainty about what lay before them.

Convincing the Chantry to help them, that was a job that felt beyond her even if it had been the best of times. Phedre was, in her mind, the least of her family. Baby to the Trevelyans, youngest of her brothers and sisters by eight years and the only one with magic. It had come and she was sent away, the dutiful lessons in diplomacy, art, music, languages and politics all coming to a halt when she was sent to the Circle. Her eldest brother, their father's heir, he would have been better at this, in Orlais, not her.

"You look thoughtful, Herald." Solas said, coming up close to her side.

"I was thinking of my family. I am perhaps the most ill-suited of all the Trevelyan's to come here and negotiate."

"Yet you are here and none of them were at the Conclave. That it is you the people want to meet and see is the important part now."

"I just meant that I could have done with some of those lessons in ruling or politics right now. Even some advice from my eldest brother." Phedre said.

Solas nodded gravely. He always seemed grave to her, so serious and considering with his words when she was flip and angry and too harsh in her own mind. She admired that about him, how he seemed to consider things before answering, though his experience and tales were so strange to her. Still, his quiet consideration of his words was a trait to emulate. If she were to ever eradicate her own brashness, she would also need to cultivate his studied calm, which she didn't have either.

"Come, a crowd grows and you cannot put it off any longer. What will come of this moment will come, and the spirits will remember."

"That's not comforting." Phedre grumbled, but Solas smiled.

"I'm not sure it was meant to be comforting, only honest."

Behind her, Cassandra sighed heavily.


	7. Watcher Warden

He wasn't sure what he was doing here, at this Inquisition. Blackwall sighed to himself and walked around the place, getting a feel for it. The woman who'd recruited him, Lady Trevelyan, she hadn't seemed like the one they were calling the 'Herald of Andraste' when he'd met her. Her magic had been useful in the fight against the bandits, and she seemed nice enough. He got a bit of uncertainty off of her, but she wasn't the type to let it show more than a weary sigh or a sarcastic remark. It was a rare and admirable trait to find, people ready to do more than they complained about. 

Lady Trevelyan, because for the life of him he couldn't remember ever hearing her first name, had quite the group in Haven. The soldiers were a smaller group than he'd expected, but if they had a large group, why would the Herald herself have approached him? They were well-trained at any rate, and more than a few of them looked like they'd seen battle before. Haven itself wasn't made for this many people, especially not a war camp. It would do for the moment, but they'd have to leave if the Inquisition kept growing.

It would keep growing so long as that Breach remained in the sky. After that, Blackwall wasn't sure what their purpose was, but there had to be one. Maybe to solve the murder of the Divine, or to just aid in bringing peace back. He didn't care at the moment, they would find a cause to suit them, as would he. There were rifts and demons and odd goings on all over the south and that was enough for him. 

He'd been pacing around the smithy, watching work go on here and there, looking up at the Breach in the sky as he thought. He decided to join the soldiers training - he could always use a good sparring match and Commander Cullen had suggested it to him when he arrived. The soldiers looked up to Wardens, and visibility meant a lift in morale. He had his own concerns about visibility but he set them aside. It was good to be back in a group, doing something good for the world, having purpose. He'd forgotten how it felt.

A quick word to Cullen saw him paired up with a recruit, the two of them getting into an easy tussle. He went easy on the young woman, who was unsure with her shield, but obviously practiced in swordplay. She had quick feet though, and started making him work for his victories once they got used to each other. 

Lady Trevelyan came over to their group, but he paid her little attention until his partner called a break. When the soldier took off her helm, a small curl of steam let off the top of her sweaty head, billowing into the cold air. He chuckled at the sight of it and rolled a shoulder to ease the muscles. He turned away from his partner to see Cullen speaking to Lady Trevelyan, and though he couldn't catch the words, the two of them were smiling.

The way she smiled at him, by the Maker he hadn't seen a smile like that in a long time. Far too long, for it reminded him of a life long past him. The smile itself was a little shy, but sincere, hopeful. He'd been a much younger man the last time he'd been favored with such a look. It wasn't lost on Cullen, for he was returning it with a grin of his own that was almost more bashful than the one given to him. Blackwall looked between them and saw the two start speaking at the same time to try and cover the too long pause without conversation. 

Neither participant was confident in that dance, he could see. Lady Trevelyan flapped her hands too much when she talked, as if she could remove awkwardness by adding more. Hadn't they both come from a Circle of Magi? Little isolated groups with their own rules and heirarchy, none of which mattered now. This could be the first time for either of them, at least to initiate such a relationship outside those confined social groups. Blackwall chuckled as a blush blossomed up Cullen's neck. The theory was looking more likely with each sidelong glance.

"Hey, Warden." An unfamiliar voice made Blackwall look away, into the eager eyes of a young man. "Mirabelle and I are switching partners. Are you ready?"

The eyes burned with youthful enthusiasm and over-confidence. Blackwall nodded, keeping his smirk to himself. "Alright then, let's see what you've got." He said, taking up his defensive stance once more.


	8. Red Jenny

By the time Phedre got back to Haven from Val Royeaux Sera already had a tavern song in her name. She didn't know what to think of it, but Sera had certainly made quite the impression on the bard and patrons of the small tavern in Haven. By the way Sera told it, there wasn't much to know about her and any attempts to learn things ended with confusion.

No, the best place to learn about Sera was out on missions. Phedre found out on accident that both Sera and Blackwall had a deep dislike for nobles. Normally, so did Phedre, but the two of them had a grudge, which felt like a world away from her own annoyance and general distrust.

"Do they just call you _Lady_ Trevelyan because you can heal the sky or are you a noble?" Sera asked one day as they mucked their way through one of the wetter parts of the Hinterlands.

They'd already taken out the rogue templars and the apostates along the King's road, so getting through the area was much less likely to end in attack by people. There were still bears and all sort of wildlife out there trying to kill them, and a multitude of unscrupulous bandits taking advantage of the war. Phedre couldn't count how many times she'd summoned fire at the last minute in order to get an enemy away from striking distance of her face.

"Um, sorry?" Phedre said, buying time to think about Sera's question. "They call me the Herald of Andraste for the shit with the rifts. But if you mean am I really a noble, yes, I am. Technically, mages can't have titles, but by courtesy I am still Lady Trevelyan since my father is a bann."

"A Bann? You're from Ostwick?" Blackwall asked, and she nodded. Behind her the two of them exchanged a look.

Phedre sighed. "Just tell me if you've a complaint with the Trevelyans. There's a lot of us and I probably won't care if your 'friends' wants to humiliate one of them." She paused then added, "They probably deserve it, I've heard a bunch of them are claiming to a 'close relationship with the Herald' and I can barely remember most of their names let alone know their faces."

She'd gotten a letter complaining about it already and left it to Josephine to think over. She could just see where this would go in the future, but held her tongue about it. These were her problems, her family, and she didn't want to give Sera any reasons to go after them on her behalf.

"Nobles in the Free Marches and Denerim aren't like the ones in Starkhaven and Val Royeaux. Too much money those last two cities, full of noble arseholes wearing gold buttons on poofy pants. Don't care who they step on." Sera said. She must have been to Starkhaven at some point, though it seemed unlikely that it was recent. Phedre might ask her about it later, when she was feeling more talkative.

"Starkhaven's in the Free Marches." Phedre pointed out, but Sera waved her fact aside.

"Not the same in Starkhaven as it in the rest of the Marches. It's like little Orlais. Hate their fish pie too."

Blackwall started to say something about fish pie when Phedre spotted a rift up ahead and pointed it out. Thank the Maker. She didn't want to talk about anything that reminded her of home. It was too hard for Phedre to think on most of the time. Her family was still going on same as ever on the other side of the sea while she'd fallen out of the Fade and into the Inquisition. She just couldn't wrap her head around the fact that some Trevelyan cousin was probably sitting down to a Starkhaven fish and egg pie right that moment, boasting about their close relationship and she smelled of dirt and had summoned her magic so many times that day that it made her spirit feel weak. Her life and the turns it made, kept getting stranger and felt more surreal by the day.

Next to her, Sera let out a loud cry and loosed an arrow at a demon that sprang out of the ground. Taking her chance, Phedre held her hand up to weaken the Breach, thinking of pie.


	9. Varric and the Templar

"Do you ever laugh, Curly?" Varric asked. 

Cullen was becoming accustomed to the nickname, though he wondered if Varric used it out of a real desire to be friends or just to annoy him. He wanted to think they were friendly, though they hadn't been in Kirkwall.

Cullen had been friends with Hawke, as much as he could have been considering the circumstances. Meeting her felt like a lifetime ago, probably because he'd just come from Ferelden himself. He'd been so much younger then, so broken and angry and young that he couldn't think back on that time without feeling physical pain in his chest. Wishing the past away didn't make it so, and he liked to focus on the present.

Cullen gave Varric a wry smile, "Only when I find something humorous."

"Well, I'll tell you this - I've seen you smile a lot more here than you ever did in Kirkwall." Varric said. "Maybe it's true what they say about going home again."

Cullen said nothing. He didn't feel like this was the same place he'd left so long ago. He hadn't seen his family, or even gone to Denerim and he certainly had no desire to go back to Kinlock Hold. The land may be in Ferelden, but it wasn't familiar to him. He knew little of Haven, save for that the Hero of Ferelden rediscovered it with Brother Genetivi, the Chantry scholar that wrote the travel guide for most of Thedas. Even that was old news.

No, he knew nothing of this place and if this Ferelden remembered him at all, it hadn't shown. The country, like he, had changed after the Blight ravaged it, rebuilding and changing in order to cope with the scars left behind.

Cullen was lost in thought when Varric spoke again, "Or maybe it has more to do with the pretty Herald of Andraste smiling at you every time she comes by. It's probably more that than anything to do with a change in scenery. Although I think we could have all used a break from Kirkwall."

"Maybe it's both." Cullen said. There was no point in trying to deny anything to Varric. The writer had shrewd eyes for details, and the businessman in him knew when someone was bluffing. It's what made him so formidable at Wicked Grace. Cullen had lost more than a few hands to him already.

Varric smiled back at him. "I think we all feel a lot better without the shadows of the Gallows looming over us."

"That is true. I can't say I miss Kirkwall at all, but I know you do." Cullen said, just the thought of his former home wiping any trace of joviality from his face.

"Kirkwall is my home, for better or worse, and I probably feel about Kirkwall a lot warmer than you feel about Ferelden." Varric sounded thoughtful, but didn't elaborate on his thoughts. He just studied Cullen, and Cullen was oblivious to the scrutiny.

His eyes had drifted to the bluff where Lady Trevelyan so often stood, looking out at the frozen water. She was away, out on one of her many missions. Cullen almost missed her, but knew that without her efforts, they'd have a lot less allies and far more demons around. Still, it was strange to look over and not see her gazing out over the horizon. He wondered what she thought of when she was there, and if it brought her peace. It seemed like peace was the one thing so many people in the Inquisition were hoping for, but no one knew the road to it. His expression softened, the hard lines life had worn into his face ebbing away to make him look more like the man who'd left Ferelden a decade ago.

"Drinks later?" Varric asked, breaking Cullen's silence once again.

"Of course."


	10. Intuition

They argued a great deal over the war table, especially when the Herald wasn't around. Four different experiences and usually opposing opinions, and Cassandra wasn't sure if any of them would work. This argument may have started at the war table, but they'd made their way from the big room to Josephine's office, and they all stood there in pointless debate.

Cassandra hated debate. It meant that no one could decide on what to do, although it was certain that something needed to be done. Of all the frustrations, this was one that she detested the most, though she bore it more easily now than she did as a younger woman. This one was tiring her out, and making her wish the Herald of Andraste was already back at the camp. She was on her way, they knew that from the scouts, but she wasn't there yet.

Then again, she could have just added a fifth voice to the din and did nothing. Cassandra dismissed that thought. Lady Trevelyan's word was usually the deciding factor. It had been suggested that they put the matter aside until she came, but Leliana hadn't wanted to delay. Then they'd spent so much time in useless debate, unable to come to a conclusion that they delayed themselves. All so pointless.

A lull came in the conversation, and she was just about to suggest, again, that they try to narrow down their options, when the door opened. The Maker did hear some prayers it seemed, or Lady Trevelyan did have Andraste's favor because her timing was perfect. It was just before Cassandra was going to walk out in frustration.

The air around her was cold, and Cassandra wondered how long they'd been cooped up in the room, talking in circles. She smiled, and something about the look chastened Cassandra. It was like catching small children squabbling. None of the others would look at her, Cullen predictably had a hand on the back of his neck, a few steps away from the rest of them and Josephine was looking down at her desk as if studying a piece of parchment, but her jaw was set. Leliana spoke first and succinctly explained the problem and how they were undecided on how to approach it. The real crux of the problem was that they'd just gotten word of a Rift in a place that was crucial to furthering their operations.

"And we just need to pick a course of action so I can go and eat, right?" Lady Trevelyan asked. No one answered, but it didn't deter her. She smiled conspiratorially at Cassandra, who could only return it with an annoyed grimace. The smile had the intended effect however, because Cassandra was sure the end of this meeting was coming sooner rather than later.

"Oh Josephine, before I forget, I found a merchant that had a few of those candles you like so I bought the rest of them. It's not many, but he's sending them up here in the next few days for you. You'll want to keep an eye out."

"Truly? Thank you, my lady. That was most thoughtful of you." Josephine looked surprised, but no less pleased for it.

"Cullen are you and Cassandra of one mind on what to do, or do we have four different ideas?" She asked, but as she did she touched the Commander's elbow, just a slight touch, bringing him closer to the table. He'd been standing slightly away from all of them, straight-backed and standoffish. At her touch he relaxed into his normal stance, hands going to the hilt of his sword in his favored resting position. He gave her a small smile before he answered.

"We are thinking similarly, but it gets us no where if the Rift in the area is still spitting out demons."

"Then I'll close it, and we'll go with your plan. I'd rather go back to the war table and use Leliana's scouts for something more delicate."

"A wise choice." Leliana said, agreeing with the change of plan.

"Good, then I'll get out there and close the Rift tomorrow, and you all can send in whomever you want."

The Herald departed after her pronouncement, the details were to be worked out by her advisors now that they could be sure that she would go close the Rift in the area they'd been arguing about. Cassandra had no more to do and left right behind her. She caught up to Lady Phedre and spoke softly.

"Alright, how did you do that?"

Phedre laughed. "Well I knew none of you would want to volunteer me to go back out again after I'd just come back to Haven, so I did it myself. And you, just looked like you wanted it all over with before you hit something. Josephine and the candles were just good timing, but it never hurts to have her favor. Next time she will fight harder for calling in allies instead of spreading our forces so thin." She took a breath and then went on.

"Leliana's concern is mostly that it's done right and quickly, and she doesn't trust many outside of her own operatives. If I say I'm willing to go, she's almost as happy as if it's one of hers covering it. And Cullen." The Herald let out a soft laugh that was half a sigh before going on. "He's easier to talk down if you touch him. I noticed that a while ago. When he starts standing away from everyone, he's not going to back down."

"You have watched us, then. Gathering observations like Varric." Cassandra was a little unnerved by the disclosure but admired Lady Trevelyan for her quick assessment of their personalities and the situation.

"Not quite like Varric, I think. I just like to know the people I'm working with and such observations are useful in the Circle."

"I can see how it would have been helpful." Cassandra said. Then she admitted, "I wish I had such an ability to read people."

"You do fine." Lady Trevelyan told her. "Besides, I'd rather have you beside me in a fight than anywhere else. That is where your instincts serve you best. It's good to have you next to me."

She left then to go and eat, but Cassandra went back to her practice. She would have thought that the Herald was manipulating her again, but there was no audience, no point to artifice. It would seem that she was sincere, and Cassandra was glad for the compliment.


	11. Madame de Fer

Vivienne knew more about Lady Phedre than she let on. One does not become powerful by admitting the whole truth upon first meeting. The knowledge was part of the reason she wanted to ally with the Inquisition in the first place. Phedre Trevelyan had been the apprentice of one of her dearest friends, a woman she'd known long before she'd started to play the Game or even before she'd settled in Montsimmard.

Lydia had gushed about her talented young apprentice, so full of questions and willing to work for the answers. She'd written at length about her potential and the things they studied, Phedre had been one of her more insatiable students. A few times they even delved into the personal, Lydia worrying for Phedre when she had her first affair gone wrong in the Circle, and lamenting that a young woman couldn't effectively learn to socialize when stuck with the same faces all day. The comment had been made that Lady Phedre was better with books and spells than with young men, but Vivienne hadn't seen any lack of charm there, just the unwillingness to use it.

Her friend had loved Phedre, though she never came out and said those word explicitly in a letter, the feeling was there, written in with the words. Like so many people with a large family, Lady Trevelyan did better away from their influence, and according to Lydia had come into her own as a magical historian. She must remember to ask about her studies one day, and perhaps get her to talk about Lydia a little more. It was clear she still mourned her loss.

"Lady Vivienne, can you spare a moment to talk?" Phedre asked, coming up behind her in the Chantry.

"Of course." She marked her place in her book and closed it. The desk here was too small, but their camp had little in the way of comforts. She would endure this cluttered desk until they were moved elsewhere.

Haven was cold, remote and dirty, but it served right now. The people there made up for the lack of amenities, and more talented folk kept coming to fill the ranks. It was no surprise to her that many of them came because of Lady Phedre finding and asking them to join up. She did have the charm, and a surprising air of authority for a last-born child. Vivienne smiled at her when she came over.

"What do you make of the talk we had with Fiona in Redcliffe?" 

"Oh my dear, there is something terribly wrong there. Even with the explanation that young Tevinter gave us, I cannot help but feel the mages have let themselves be steered down a terrible path."

Phedre was nodding at her. "It didn't smell right. I wasn't sure if I was going to help save the templars or the mages at first, because both groups are worth saving." She ran a hand through her hair, letting the chin length strands spill through her fingers. It was such a pretty color, Vivienne thought to herself. Phedre's mouth was turned down in a frown that didn't suit her somewhat angular face. 

"Time magic. Mages getting mixed up with some Tevinter cult. The Lord Seeker taking the templars away. Val Royeaux looked so bare without them. It's all wrong, and I have to choose soon." She muttered, then looked out towards the opening door of the Chantry. Commander Cullen walked in, a report in his hand. He didn't see them, but Phedre watched him as he strode through the building, turning into Lady Josephine's office. Her eyes remained on the doorway where he disappeared for a long moment.

"Will you go with me?" She asked, seeming to have made up her mind in the short span of thought.

"I will go wherever you lead, my dear. We should also take someone with a sword and Varric."

Phedre smiled at her. "Excellent advice as always. I'll have to get arranged, but I'll let you know when we leave."

A lesser mind might have asked where they were going, but Vivienne already knew.


	12. The Iron Bull

Bull was ready to set out before the Herald even came down to get her unicorn from the stables. The way she petted and cooed over that thing, it almost made him forget how unnerving it was. There weren't a lot of animals that made him wary on sight, but for some reason her bog unicorn was one of them. She however, seemed to love all of her mounts and preferred the exotics, and it seemed the stranger they were, the better.

There were a lot of things to like about her, even if she didn't know what she was doing. Sure, she could close Rifts and that was important to them all, but she was also leading this Inquisition, even if they hadn't declared it yet. That they hadn't named her the leader gave him pause, but they were doing good work. They'd also been founded in a time of crisis, and that took time to work out. Some disorganization could be allowed at the beginning. Should it continue, it would color his opinion, and thus his reports to the Ben-Hassrath, but he had hope it wouldn't.

Things were still shaky in the camp after the last fight, and the Herald was eager to be off. Their new allies needed time to settle in, and there were a lot more people running around Haven than there had been before. Better to be off on the road, doing something instead of sitting around watching all the people. His sword armed itched to be used, and he was sick of the snow.

"Are you ready to go, Bull?" She came up to him leading her mount behind her. Nearby were Varric and Ser Blackwall, both armed and armored.

"Ready." He answered, then asked, "So you're riding that weird unicorn again?"

"It's my favorite." She replied, taking no offense at his question. 

"You ever wonder what the scouts say about you on that. 'Nothing to report ser, just a mage woman on a unicorn going by an hour ago.'"

"With a qunari, a Grey Warden and a dwarf. That sounds like the set up for a truly awful joke."

"Joke's on whoever tries to attack us." Iron Bull said quickly, and got a smile from the Herald. 

When she mounted her unicorn, she turned and stuck her tongue out at him. He laughed loudly as they trotted away, snow and dirt kicking up in her wake.


	13. An Older Love Story

"More Trevelyan bullshit?" Lady Phedre asked as she stood at the war table, looking over Josephine's latest missive from her family. Her frown was so deep it was almost farcical as she read.

"Please tell me I don't have to break an engagement some old ally is now interested in pursuing or something like that."

"Nothing of that sort, but do tell me if we should be on the lookout for old contracts and arrangements." Josephine said, all seriousness.

Cullen tried not to ask the question that was burning his useless tongue, whether or not Phedre had any lingering romantic entanglements in her life. The interest was more than professional, because his interest had taken a turn for the personal, even after he tried to rein it in. He hadn't gotten to the point where he felt he could ask her, but he wanted to know the answer all the same. 

She chuckled at Josephine. "That's not the Trevelyan way, didn't you know?" She asked.

A furrowed brow was her response. "But certainly members of your family do have arranged marriages. You have a brother engaged to a Ferelden noble, which I thought your father had a hand in planning."

"Oh yes, like any other noble family we do arrange marriages." Phedre explained. "But my father and mother are great romantics and they won't make one for us unless we ask. They were a love match with quite the little story of how they met and I think Father wanted each of his girls swept away the way he did Murrah. But I'm a mage, and so there's no epic romances or arranged marriages for me."

Cassandra turned to ask, "What happened to your parents, if it was so romantic that it influenced their decision to seek marriages for their children?" Marriage among the nobility was as much about politics as it was about procreation. Obviously the idea of supporting love in an affair was incredulous to Cassandra, her tone gave her away.

"Maker, if I'm twenty-nine, then my eldest brother is what, forty-two now? Yes, that sounds about the right age. Right then, about forty-five years ago or so in Kirkwall, Murrah - sorry that's what I call my mother - Murrah was hit by a cart. It was the first time she'd ever been to the Free Marches. She was there visiting some friends with her mother, they'd attended some house party or something like that. I'm not quite sure what happened exactly, Murrah says they were in the market, but my father insists that she couldn't have been. Anyway, the cart struck her and she was badly injured. Her dress caught under one of the wheels and pulled her under, and it shattered the bone in one of her legs. The Chantry there took care of her, and my grandmother, being from Rivain was only passing familiar with the Chant of Light."

Cullen looked around the small room, but even Leliana was hanging on Lady Trevelyan's words, listening intently to the story. All movement about the map was forgotten and Cullen turned his gaze back to her. Her small hand was tucking a lock of her hair behind an ear.

"But the Chantry took care of my mother, and the Circle of Magi sent healers to ease her pain. It was quite serious at first, they weren't sure she would live. My grandmother approved of the mages, because supposedly we're descended from a long line of Seers, and the Rivaini love their witches. She was the only one pleased when I came into my magic. Anyway, it took a year for Murrah to fully recover, she had to learn to walk again. Can you imagine? She was only seventeen when the cart hit her." Phedre said, her gaze cloudy and far away when Cullen looked over at her. 

"When she was first walking again, she would tire quickly. The only place she made special effort to go was to the Chantry services. My father was in Kirkwall negotiating a trade agreement with another family, since he'd just come into his own as head of our house. When he went to the Chantry, the first thing he saw was my mother leaning on a walking stick and lighting a candle. He heard her sing the Chant of Light and saw it brought tears to her eyes." She smiled fondly, still focused somewhere off in the distance. "He still says she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, her hair in these elaborate box braids that fell down her back and eyes glowing in the candlelight. We've got the same color eyes. I'm the only one out of all my brothers and sisters. He didn't let her go without speaking to her, asking if he could call on them the next day. He stayed in Kirkwall for an extra week just to take her out."

She sighed then, and her focus came back to the room around them. "Anyway that's how they met, and after a year of courting, my parents married against the wishes of my grandfather Trevelyan. I only think he allowed it because my mother is Rivaini nobility and because my father was an only child. Murrah hated going to Kirkwall after that, so I've never been. They were married in Ostwick and my grandmother came with her."

"That is a beautiful story." Cassandra said, filling in the silence that descended after the story was finished.

"Well, my father's a big softie and that's why there's not a single marriage contract for any of us unless we want to get married. My eldest brother married for love, though conveniently enough his wife was already nobility. Nothing was ever expected of me, being so far down the line and ill-suited for society. I think the other houses would have politely declined any interest my father conveyed on my behalf and sent their sons far away." Phedre laughed, and where Cullen expected it to be hard it wasn't. It was an inelegant snort of true amusement. Despite her upbringing, he realized that she truly didn't see herself as a noble, or very desirable - at least in terms of her family. Though her laughter subsided quickly, it still made a place within him ache.

She looked back down at the missive she'd picked up earlier, the one that started her story. A scowl settled across her face and she muttered to herself as she read it. "So this is about milch cows? What the Void? Should we even care about this?"

"It escalated into an armed dispute." Leliana said quickly. "Right now your family are vocal supporters of the Inquisition. We should do all we can to keep their name from being disgraced in any way."

She was studiously not looking at him, Cullen realized, because she kept her gaze down on the table when she asked for options. She went with Josephine's suggestion, then made a few more adjustments to their operations. It wasn't until he spoke that she looked up at him. It was just a simple affirmation of the place where she'd committed their forces, but when he said "All right", she met his eyes for the first time.

They were amber and violet, shining like newly minted sovereigns as they held his eyes. A man could be driven mad by that gaze when it was fixed upon him or if it didn't favor him at all. It could pin him to the ground as if it were a blade, and see through him with an unnatural focus. But the soft light the eyes were kind, unsure and skittish. Cullen smiled and the eyes were surprised, then blinked once before they lit up and Lady Phedre smiled back.


	14. Ser Barris

The Templar Order would be so fragmented that they would likely fade out of existence, had it not been for Lady Trevelyan. She'd saved them, fought the demon that had invaded their ranks as the Lord Seeker, purged the red from the true Order. She'd offered them salvation, when thought there would have been none.

They were the full allies of the Inquisition now. It was more than what the Chantry could offer them, or had in a very long time. Barris wondered what Val Royeaux was like right then, with the clerics locked in debate, no one leading the mourning city. Did the chant still ring out across the streets as it did in Haven's war camp? Would the templars have been as warmly welcomed there?

The Herald of Andraste wasn't a bad sort of women, and she held her own in a fight. He understood her position in her family, as a last and needless heir, but besides that they had little in common. She was a mage, and he one sworn to protect against magic. They hadn't known each other before, and he knew too much about her now. 

The demon Envy had investigated her while wearing the Lord Seeker's skin. It demanded reports of her, asked questions about her past and family. It wanted to know her and at the time he thought it was just another quirk of the Lord Seeker's that he'd have to endure. At the time it hadn't seemed like a plot at all, though it had raised his suspicion that the information had been personal and not about the Inquisition. Now that he knew why, knowing it felt akin to knowing a secret that he shouldn't have overheard.

He knew that her eldest brother who married another noble the Free Marches and seemed to all outsiders very smitten with his wife, even after a decade of marriage. Whether they couldn't or just wouldn't have children or didn't want them fed rumors in Ostwick. There was a sister that married a Nevarran, a match made by a great uncle who advised King Markus. Then another sister that was a confirmed sister in Wycome, so far as they could tell. The other brother, the one closet to her age, he led the family forces and had an arranged marriage into a Ferelden family, though there was no official announcement of an engagement yet.

All the things he knew he felt like he shouldn't know and they reminded him of his own family's business. Barris would feel ambushed if just anyone off the street had delved into his background, came at him speaking the names of his loved ones and talking about their lives. Knowing all of this unsettled him. They were not friends, and he would have preferred to be told such details after knowing her a while. But that was the price of fame or infamy, was it not? So many people probably knew all the same facts that he did, and felt a kinship to the Herald of Andraste. People who were searching for a way to make her feel real, ties that bound her to being someone they might actually have met in the street.

"Are you and the rest of the templars settling in well, Ser Barris?" The Herald asked. She was walking around the camp that night, speaking to her people, and doubtless attending to Inquisition business. 

"We are, my lady Herald." His answer was brief but not unkind. She had saved him, and any discomfort he felt was the fault of the demon, not her.

"The Inquisition is glad to have you." She said, for something like the tenth time since they'd arrived. "We will close the Breach yet."

"I hope so, my lady. It is unnerving so close up." 

She said nothing to his statement, but then pushed her hair out of her face. She was very pretty, with delicate hands and chin length hair that suited her pointed vulpine face. He was aware that she was assessing him, but he let her. Maybe if she learned about him, his unease in her presence would abate. 

"If you all need anything, please ask Commander Cullen. He's no long with the Order, but I know that he's pleased that you're here."

He nodded at her and she left, but he didn't watch her go. She filed through the rest of the templar tents, speaking and greeting as many people as she could. He hoped she was able to close the Breach. It would be a shame to see her die after all she'd done.


	15. Hessarian's Blade

The first time they'd gone to the Storm Coast, they'd found the missing scouts murdered by the Blades of Hessarian. She challenged their leader, wearing the Mercy's Crest and won their allegiance after defeating the brute. Her victory did not come without a few bruises, and their second in command patched her up. He remained on the Storm Coast with his group, now loyal to her, and did work for the Inquisition.

She visited them whenever she was on the coast, grateful that they were around to keep order. Darkspawn had tunneled through some caves and were wandering about, but the Blades of Hessarian helped to keep them in check. The group was mildly useful, and it was better to have them on her side than to slaughter all of them, they had a great many numbers all around the region. Truthfully, Phedre did not think about them overmuch, save for her visits to the Storm Coast.

That was why when the second in command, the lieutenant called Jareth kissed her, it was such a surprise.

She'd come to the camp and checked in with him as she always did. He said that he had business to discuss elsewhere, which was a departure. Normally nothing much changed between her and the group, though they were loyal to her and thus the Inquisition, they didn't require her direct oversight. Jareth led her to one of the ramshackle cabins at the camp after she told her companions that she would be a minute. 

He spoke of the resurgence of darkspawn, of the dragon that plagued the coast. Phedre knew of all these hazards and was starting to get annoyed when he took her hand. Her mind blanked, she'd just thinking of ways to extract herself from the conversation when he closed in.

"Truly, Your Worship, I had nothing new to tell you. I just wished for your undivided attention." His dark brown hair was drying in the dark cabin, and she noted that he was attractive, if not handsome.

"You have it. Is there something special you wanted to say?" She asked. He took her hand in his, touching it reverently through the leather gloves. The touch lingered, and Phedre felt heat rush to her face. He traced invisible lines on her palm with his finger, looking hopefully up at her. 

"Is my attention unwelcome?" He asked, voice low. The patter of the rain on the roof seemed to fade away until all she could hear was the two of them breathing, and the sound of the meager fire that warmed them.

"It's unexpected." Phedre said simply.

The moment hung in the air, and then he leaned in and kissed her. It was a simple, sweet kiss but practiced and restrained. His lips were warm and soft under her own, and though she lacked his finesse, returned the kiss. When she closed her eyes, she thought of her last kiss.

It was in the Circle, of course. She had been involved with a senior enchanter that wished to end their affair, and kissed her with brittle, stingy lips that made her feel ridiculous. It wasn't a pleasant memory for her, not just because of the end of the affair, but because she thought she might die and the last time she'd been kissed it had been a harsh, resentful thing.

This kiss wasn't. It was open and beautiful, inviting and hopeful. But it wasn't with the person she wanted, and going along with it would do a disservice to the man who'd so gently washed away the memory of her last kiss. She enjoyed it for what it was, but didn't get swept up in it. Too many things could happen if she let herself be pulled into a relationship based on her own self-pity and unchecked admiration. Lady Phedre disentangled herself from Jareth with one hand on his chest. 

"I'm sorry." She said, not bothering to explain why. "But thank you for being so kind. It's been a long time since I was kissed."

Jareth looked crestfallen, but he laughed. "I should thank you. It's not as if I really thought I had a chance to be with Andraste's chosen. That was more than I dared hoped for."

When she returned to Skyhold, she watched Cullen as he worked. The recruits sparred around him, and wind carried his shouted commands as he oversaw their training. Would that she could have borrowed some of Jareth's brazen courage and kissed the Commander, but she couldn't. Her heart wasn't strong enough yet to do more than just smile at him and babble too much in his presence. And swear far too often to be ladylike. She sighed, the huff of air turning into cold wisps around her. Maybe in time, they would have more if she could ever figure out her feelings and coax them into words he might understand.


	16. Cole

She has a light that burns clear and warm, and it's bright beneath her skin. There is nothing but brightness at first, but deeper there's more. He feels her worry, her shame, and the hardness that she carries that makes a cage around all the things that make her vulnerable and soft.

She glows brilliantly near Cullen, and Cole isn't sure why, but he thinks some of that light is for the Commander. It's hard for him to understand, but it's special. It's like Rhys and Evangeline, near the end they shown bright too, brightest near each other.

He wonders if he should tell her that underneath all those scars, the soft light within Cullen shines unblinkingly back at her. The words don't come to him, because he isn't sure it would help. Cole wants to help, but he the Herald doesn't really need him. What she needs is confidence, and he doesn't know how to give her that. He hopes she can find it herself because when she's around, Cullen is much warmer.


	17. It's Time

There was never a way to know if the plan to close the Breach would work. Solas had ideas, speculated, and the Templars had power enough. But ideas and theories don't always work the way they should in practice, and Phedre found herself praying that this once they would. Her prayer was a funny thing, hoping for nothing but power and time, time enough to close the rifts that were still spread over the land, power enough to heal this biggest Breach. Never before had she forgone the urge to pray for particular people and ask for general help.

The Maker didn't hear her, and she wasn't sure she was Andraste's chosen, no matter what she told the Templars. She wanted to believe in blessings, her whole life she wanted to sing the Chant, to believe in the power of Andraste and her love. A life lived in the Circle made her pray for people, for her family and the people she loved like family. She wasn't sure how she felt, or what she believe in that last uncertain moment, so she just prayed.

It was more like a rambling soliloquy by the time she stood, worry lessened but still with her. There had been more than a few people praying with her, the Chant still echoed around the halls of the Chantry. But when she stood, it was Chancellor Roderick that stood with her and he who walked by her side.

"I pray that this works, Lady Trevelyan." He never called her the Herald of Andraste, as if his refusal to say that title was his small way of protesting it. She found she didn't mind. 

For all his trouble when she first awakened in Haven, she realized that he was only scared and doing what he thought was right. She was grateful that there were other voices to temper his however, because being dragged to Val Royeaux in chains wasn't an experience she needed in her life.

"As do I, Chancellor. If it pleases you, continue to pray as we make the attempt. Perhaps you can turn the Maker's compassion upon our efforts." Phedre said, then strode away from the man.

She could be cordial when she felt like it, and the rock hard lump in her gut made her more inclined towards her better manners. She didn't want to die and the last thing she'd done was insult a cleric.


	18. Battlefield Confessions

There are too many people. 

Haven held too many of them, their celebration too big as the Breach closed. It was the worst time to run for their lives, and the very best time for their cunning enemies to strike. They are disorganized, drunk, the templar elite guard weakened from standing behind the Herald as she sealed the sky.

There had been a hundred times where Cullen could have died in the past, and each time he thinks it is the end, he's been saved. Perhaps luck is with him, or maybe it is the brave hearts that are bigger shields than the one he carries on his back. 

Lady Phedre has such a heart. She turned away from him when he asked how she would survive after burying Haven. Maker take them all, he would lead them away from her, following Chancellor Roderick as she fought for them all again, even after healing the Breach had left her exhausted. 

He did not know how she could have anything left within her to cast her magic, but she did. He could always feel her particular magic - the radiating force of her power - even when she was just standing next to him. Perhaps it was an aftereffect of the years lyrium, or maybe just the strength of her. It had never occurred to him to ask until that moment, but he couldn't say anything. The words immolated themselves on his ashen tongue and turned to bitter dust for him to swallow.

Battlefield confessions are an ugly thing dressed up with romance. Stories tell of dying soldiers sending message to sweethearts that comfort their grief by confirming the power of love. Cullen's been through too many battles. He knows the truth, seen the words that cracked and bloodied lips try to form as breath deserts the body, tongues that fall in on themselves as they attempt with words to make one last thing right before the end. They are desperate, sobbing messages, pleas to live, to tell my mother I'm sorry, to confess wrongs done and things not righted. They are sand in a clock that's run out while no one noticed, numbers that come up before the realization hits that they were even in a queue at all. 

He cannot add to Phedre's burden, the one that settled on her back as she leapt into action while half of Haven was still in a nonplussed state of abandoned celebration. His confession would be that he cared, even when he never said anything, when his mouth was frozen like a fool and his smiles mostly came too late aimed towards a back that was walking away from him. That she could be meaningful to his battered heart in a way it hasn't even considered in a very, very long time, so long that it scared him and made a coward of the lips that wished only to brush hers. Cullen's watched her in pain, in laughter, in sorrow and self-pity and never once found her less than magnificent. She shines so brightly that at first she hurt his eyes, and he remembered the warmth of the sun too late to do more than take a step towards it.

When they are out of the tunnels, the flare fired, he turns to watch as the mountain collapses on what was once Haven. The dragon and magister were down there too, and he hopes that they are so distracted by their own need to run that they let Phedre live. Maker please, let her live still. He can't think of it, it makes the breath seize up in his chest. Scores of bodies, the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, everything that was once the Inquisition that couldn't be carried in bags on backs is now gone, gone, gone, covered in miles of snow and earth.

And the Herald of Andraste, Lady Trevelyan is missing.

Cassandra's voice, weary and angry comes from the shadows of the camp. "The avalanche was proof. It came after the signal, when we were well away. She still lives." 

Cullen's eyes burn behind his closed lids, exhausted. He darts an excruciatingly dry tongue over wind burned lips. With his face in his hands, he fells like he can hear every conversation in their makeshift camp. The echoes throb in his aching head, but the pain doesn't matter.

"Thank the Maker."

"Mama, I'm tired."

"The Herald of Andraste saved us all again."

"Get closer to the fire, warm yourself up."

"Where are we?"

"We need to tend to the wounded right away. Some of them won't make it through the night without help."

He stands up, the collected snow in his collar falling to the ground with his sudden movement. The walk was jarring, limbs stiff and heavy with fatigue and relief. Cassandra smelled like blood and snow.

"I'll take the first watch. The Herald will come." 

She nods her approval at him, while Leliana bustles off to help organize what's left of her own scouts. Cullen walks out to stare at the endless white drifts that cover their path from Haven. So much has abandoned him, he must hold onto some hope.


	19. Behold the Inquisitor

The lights of the camp blurred in front of Phedre's eyes, but she smiled. She made it. It couldn't have been an easy journey for anyone, but she'd fought her way through the aftermath of the avalanche to find them. Never before had she been so happy to see such a hastily erected mess of people and tents.

Her legs felt like dead weight before but now she feels nothing. She still feels nothing as she sinks to her knees in the snow, but by that time voices are calling out to her. Cassandra, Cullen, others say words that are indistinguishable inside her head. She made it.

The next memories are scattered and broken. Phedre remembers less each time she thought back on it. Cassandra and Cullen reached her first, and Cassandra helped her up. She shouldered Phedre's dead weight, so Cullen could lift her into his arms. He carried her like a new spouse over the threshold into the camp.

"Maker, she's freezing." He said, and she felt the words in his chest more than heard them. 

"Cullen." She could only get his name out before her mouth wouldn't work anymore. Even that word was fuzzy, too large for her cottony mouth. Her throat closed, too aching and tired to produce any other sounds. What she'd wanted to say was that her feet stung, her ears hurt and that she could feel her heart beating in her eyes. But all that came out was the tired gasp of his name. From where she was, pressed against his chest, she could see his jaw tighten.

Then the world went black.

When she wakes it is to the sound of fighting and raised voices. She falls asleep again. There's more fighting when she finally comes to enough to sit up. Mother Giselle offered comfort from faith through her song, but Solas gave her more. He gives Phedre the change to lead the remainder of her people to a fortress, to a place where she might be able to protect them better. The journey is hard, but it restored a hope that had deserted her when she looked into Corypheus's red flame eyes.

The people who bought her time, who loaded the trebuchets died in the fighting. Cassandra, Varric and Blackwall almost faced Corypheus with her, and they would have likely died. Phedre's dreams are heavy and bleak, and they leave her feeling drained in the mornings. They all could have died had it not been for Chancellor Roderick. He was dead too, his wounds unable to heal after their flight.

Maker, if this was what being a hero entailed, she was surprised there were so many that aspired to it. The reality wasn't the same as the dream.

Guilt and hope warred constantly in her heart, but it wasn't until she got to Skyhold that hope won out. She would do more, she had to this time. There was a name, an enemy, a weakness to be found. She just needed to find it and destroy him before he came back for her. Phedre squared her shoulders and looked out on Skyhold.

Then she took up the mantle as Inquisitor while the people she saved roared their approval back at her.


	20. The Scout (Flirting)

She knows that Skyhold is going to be an amazing place once the Inquisition gets it up and running. There's never been anything she's been prouder to be a part of, especially after the Herald saved them all at Haven. An Archdemon and a magister! No one knows how she even lived after that, but she did and led them to Skyhold. Truly, she must have Andraste's favor as people said. She certainly believed in the new Inquisitor.

Even though the place will be a glorious refuge, they're battered and bruised from the trip. It's up to people like her - those that can work - to do so. The Commander's got everyone that can running all around. They're getting the patrols set up and rebuilding, running messages so nothing gets missed. It's tiring work, but Cullen doesn't quit until the last man does, the shadows under his eyes are testament to that. He's a good commander, one of the best she's ever had, and she'd served in the King's army. There were plenty of bad commanders ordering around the King's men, but she had no complaints with the Inquisition.

She was standing near Cullen when the new Inquisitor came over to speak with him. It took all she had not to bow down to the woman, but she wouldn't have noticed. The Inquistor's eyes were for Cullen only. The whole of the camp had seen the way she'd fallen into his arms when she found them after Haven. Maker, how could the Commander be so blind? It was all she could do to keep her tongue in check, but she wanted to push him towards the Herald. The woman had stood up to a demon with a dragon, but blushed prettily and stumbled over her words around Commander Cullen. She was trying to say how glad she was that he lived, but there was more to it than that.

There was a deep longing there, words kept in check behind the dam of lips, but they wouldn't be contained for long. Her eyes, so narrow and strangely colored, gathered a smolder when she looked at Cullen. She'd almost turned away, their silence too long, when he touched her arm and brought her back to him. Maybe the Commander wasn't so oblivious after all.

No, Cullen could see the woman in front of him, not just the Inquisitor. It was hard to separate the two in her mind, but he was speaking so low now the words were only for the pair of them. Skyhold bustled around them, but the two were frozen together, locked int heir own private moment.

When it passed and the Inquisitor left, Cullen handed her another assignment as if he hadn't gotten interrupted. There was no mention of the Inquisitor as she'd just been, waiting and staring into his eyes. She would have said there was nothing but duty, but Cullen burned fiercer as he leaned back over the plans laid out on the table. It was back to business, and there was plenty of it, but she was glad. As fascinating as the prospect of the Commander and the Inquisitor was, they still had real work to do.

She took a detour on her way to run the next message, and stopped by the soldier's tents. They'd be outside for a while yet, until more quarters could be arranged. There was room, but plenty of walls, floors and roofs needed fixing first. She wound her way through the camp, searching for Benny. He was busy trying to repair a water pump.

"Hey Benny, you running a book on the Commander and the new Inquisitor getting together?" She asked. Benny was their bookmaker, or at least their version of one.

"That's an interesting prospect. Yeah, there's been a lot of interest in who might sweep our lady off her feet." Then Benny frowned at her. "But it's Warden Blackwall that's in the lead. They spend a lot of time together. Fighting side by side and such."

She smiled at him, and then offered up her coin "I've just got a feeling that it's going to get be her and Commander Cullen."

Benny gave her a long look, then put down his tools and took out a notebook. "I'll take that bet." He said and palmed her coin.


	21. Vivienne In Val Royeaux

"After our discussion about the design choices for Skyhold, I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me to Val Royeaux." Phedre asked Vivienne over dinner. 

There were several dignitaries dining with them that evening, but most preferred to wait until after dinner to try and work their charm on the Inquisitor. She was glad of it, since most nights that meant she got to eat in peace, then let Josephine handle most of the heavy-hitters while she attended to other things.

"Why of course, my darling." Vivienne answered airily. "Whenever you like."

They departed a day later, just Phedre and Vivienne. Phedre suspected, but hadn't been sure that Vivienne would be more comfortable in her element, outside of Skyhold and the constant reminders of war. Vivienne never seemed to relax there, her unfamiliarity with their circumstances always just enough that the ease she wanted to project never rang true. A short jaunt to Orlais might refresh them both, especially after losing Haven. Her intuition was right.

Orlais was Vivienne's as much as Skyhold belonged to Phedre. There was a bond there, so palpable it was almost like a thread that wove Vivienne around Orlesian society. While not noticeable to an outsider, Phedre saw Vivienne relax as she put her mask back on and strode confidently through the marketplace.

They were looking at draperies when Vivienne spoke up. They'd vetoed several fabrics so far, and only had two serious contenders. "My dear, I was going through some of my old correspondence, and I realized I had a note from Lydia. It might be something you're interested in since you were her apprentice."

"Oh?" Phedre wasn't sure what Vivienne might have. Lydia had many correspondents, sent out a great deal of notices about her work and research and findings, her words lacing through a network of historians, chantry sisters, mages and templars alike. 

"Yes, darling. Here it is, read it at your leisure. I daresay you'll find it useful in your research, if you still continue the historical research she indicated in the letter." Vivienne said, handing her a folded piece of parchment. It was soft, as if it had been read many times, and the fold lines were old creases where the ink had faded slightly. 

Vivienne hesitated for a moment then said, "I know you must miss her, as I do. It isn't much, but I happened upon it in my things. If I could give you more, I would."

Phedre nodded, but said nothing. She didn't need to read the letter right away. That Vivienne had kept it, reread it - the letter had to be important to her as well. Phedre had precious few mementoes to remind her of her former mentor, and nothing of her outside correspondence. It was so thoughtful that it nearly brought tears to her eyes.

But neither Phedre nor Vivienne were the watery type, and instead of trying to load emotion or meaning into the moment, she let it go. "Lady Vivienne, I believe you promised to introduce me to your seamstress. I am in desperate need of a new dressing gown." Phedre said. 

At that, Vivienne laughed, the sound truly amused as it rang out. They left the drapery fabric behind, the shop keeper looking dismayed as they walked out together. "I am sure that can be arranged. Far be it for me to judge, but I highly doubt your templar would mind what he saw you in. Still, it is best to present your best, as always."

"My templar?" Her voice sounded steady, even a little amused, but a blush colored her cheeks.

Vivienne smiled at her, but didn't slow her bustling pace. She had a glide, but it was purposeful and confident. It must have taken so much effort to make her elegance look so natural. Phedre was in awe. 

"The Commander was always yours, even when neither of your knew it. Come now, my dear, or the choice of silks will be appalling. A dove grey would look wonderful on you, or even an ecru. The war really does limit our options however."

Phedre walked on with her, tucking the letter away and wondering just how much Lydia had told Vivienne about her. She knew her far better than she let on, but Phedre found she didn't mind. Fate was a strange and wonderful thing, she knew, and it was felt like she was meant to meet Lady Vivienne, even before the Circles fell. If letters from years ago could introduce them and their current quest bind them, then maybe what seemed like serendipity wasn't so random after all. At least that was what Phedre was hoping about this whole 'Herald of Andraste' business.


	22. So Much Work

There was nothing but work  
Duty, recovering, training  
Merchant caravans coming up the dirt road  
The wind whistles through the walls  
Bring some trade  
Make some coin  
It is expensive  
Saving the world  
Outfit the troops  
Days of scouting  
Long nights where she knows  
She can do nothing for the cries she hears  
Go to the Maker's side  
Feed all the people  
Let them toast to her name  
She is their savior  
Andraste chose her  
Don't let them down again  
She tries to keep up  
Never let the mask drop  
Enthusiasm, bravery, heroism  
All embodied in her visage  
The soldiers pray to her  
But carefully package their hopes  
to 'Andraste' with a reverential whisper  
As she moves through the ranks  
Her encouragement as earnest  
As the cross she bears  
Our enemy has a name  
To be cursed and praised  
In equal measure  
Endless stretches away  
Packs overburdened upon returning  
Will it ever be enough  
All this work  
And the only refuge is when  
The scarred corner of his mouth lifts  
Smirking, smiling just for her  
Over the map   
Of the war they wage


	23. Friends

Cullen didn't have many friends. So many of them died in Kinloch Hold, it was painful for him to even think of making new ones for a long time. He thought this lack of connections was a good thing in Kirkwall, because that place never seemed to lend itself to anything but darkness and betrayal. Even in the end, he would not say he'd done more than be colleagues with the people he'd served with and led for nearly ten years. At some point he'd considered that he hadn't the talent for making friends, that between Ferelden and Kirkwall it was lost and never to return.

Logically, he knew that he could make friends. He considered Hawke a friend, though their lives and beliefs had come into opposition many times. Hawke had not had the easiest of circumstances, and Cullen perhaps wasn't the easiest of friends to keep. Perhaps that was the truest kind of friend, a relationship that can weather disagreements and still retain the respect that each has for another. He didn't know, and didn't think on it too long these days.

The Inquisition is full of people that want to know him, that go out of their way to talk to him. He considers Cassandra a friend, though he knows part of her attention is because of their agreement. But then, could one make an agreement to try and save the other from madness and not become close? She asked him how his days went, made sure to check in with him and was concerned about his safety - and did all those things without becoming his nursemaid. That was what a friend did, wasn't it? In any case, he liked her a great deal, admired her determination and found that when he sparred with her, she pulled none of her punches.

Dorian was more of a surprise. The friendship happened almost by itself, as if it were already there and waiting to be uncovered. He suspected that Dorian thought he had no talent for making friends as well, but that was a misapprehension on his part. The little he knew of Tevinter society made him think that Dorian would have been better off somewhere in Ferelden, dealing with the few demands of society in Denerim and charming everyone from shopkeeper to farm hand. His friends would have been legion, people brought in by the good graces and witty remarks and staying for the true heart that lay beneath. At least that's what Cullen thought of him.

But while Cullen could think a good deal about his new friends, about Dorian and the enormous amount of understanding compassion that lay under his glossy Tevinter shell, about Cassandra and the caring, attentive heart that was covered in Inquisition armor, he wasn't sure what to say to them. He appreciated them, sure, but articulating that wasn't something that he could do, and suspected neither could they. 

So he just responds to Cassandra's notes as quick as he can, reassuring her when he's fine and telling her the truth about when he isn't. He owes her that. Cullen doesn't know how to say to Dorian that Tevinter is surely less without him, and he is welcomed here as long as he wants to be with the Inquisition, so he doesn't, but he invites him to play chess. Dorian is terrible even when he cheats and Cullen is far too good, but he lets him win every once in a while. There's value in winning a game here and there, something he knows from childhood.

He has friends once again. 

Though Cullen is less inclined to see it, there's more than just the two. Josephine asks questions that Cullen dismisses without thought, but when a box of Ferelden toffees show up in his office with a letterpress card for a happy belated name day, he knows who they are from. The Iron Bull and his Chargers are always setting up friendly challenges for him and his elite troops, and silver passes between him and the Bull when they do go up against each other in practice. There's Varric and his habit of showing up out of nowhere to 'shoot the shit' with him, and Sera and her strange offerings that always seem like tricks. There's so much, he isn't sure how to deal with it at first, because it's so foreign and strange.

Friends. People to talk with, an ever-ready partner for chess, drinking buddies, sparring partners that aren't raw recruits looking to knock the old soldier down. Then there's the Inquisitor, who is something else altogether, maybe more than a friend. It's been so long, years and years since he did more than have discreet affairs and avoid entanglements and more often than not just spend his nights alone, wanting. It's been so long since he even considered it that he isn't sure how to go about having a relationship at all. Any experience he might have gotten was impeded by the Order, and his memories of happy families and people courting are so old they've yellowed around the edges. No families for templars, especially not one with a mage. But she is his friend too, going out of her way to talk to him, to check in and ask his advice and opinions. There's always interest and respect between them. He respects her too, for more than just what she's done, but for who she has become in such a short time.

For all that he is not used to having friends, he cherishes them all.


	24. The Aftermath of Chess

Skyhold never truly slept. It was quieter at night, no merchants at the stalls, no one in the training yard. The braziers and stars were the only lights in the courtyard, all other lanterns hidden behind windows and in rooms. Phedre lit her own lamp and went out to stand on her balcony, pulling her dressing gown closed around her.

It had been hours since she'd met up with Cullen and played chess. Hours since he'd smiled at her suggestion to spend more time together and agreed. Why was she still so nervous? 'Get a grip, Phedre.' But no matter how she chided herself, nothing calmed her. 

If she couldn't stop thinking about him before, she definitely wasn't going to be able to stop now. The whole thing felt so silly and heady and after Haven the last thing she needed was a distraction that took up so much space in her head. But it was too late, wasn't it? Before they'd even come to Skyhold, Cullen was already taking up prime real estate in her mind. 

She stood out there, the cold not bothering her and thought about all she knew of Cullen. There had been little time to talk with him - he was always at the camp and she was so often away from it. Plus it wasn't easy to talk to him, there were always people around. At least here at Skyhold she might have a chance to have a conversation without twenty soldiers in earshot. 

What she did know about Cullen was about his kindness, his determination and bravery. He wasn't afraid to do what had to be done, but wasn't reckless about it. Perhaps a little blunt - as Josephine put it 'the man with a hammer to whom everything resembles a nail'. That seemed right in line with him in most ways, preferring directness and clarity. Phedre looked out towards the tower office he'd claimed. There was light coming through his windows, but she wasn't sure if that was from him or whomever was sent to wake him in the mornings. She stared at it unseeing, thinking of the occupant of the room. The sky grew pink around the edges, dawn creeping in as she thought and stared and marshaled her courage.

Phedre went through her ablutions and dressed, focused on only her task. She was going to talk to Cullen, today, before she lost her nerve. When she was dressed, she flung open the door to her room, determined to take the quickest path to Cullen's tower when she ran headlong into Leliana.

"Andraste's ass, I'm so sorry!" She hadn't been prepared to meet anyone on her way, let alone slam right into a person. It took her a moment to recognize Leliana, who didn't seem phased by the collision.

"It's alright, Inquisitor. You're up early, and with such purpose. May I ask where you were going?"

Color rushed to Phedre's face, but she kept her voice under control. "I needed to see Commander Cullen, to speak with him. He and I have something to discuss."

"I see."

"It's nothing really." Phedre was losing her nerve. "Just wanted to...talk...I guess?"

A smile fluttered onto Leliana's face for a brief second before she suppressed it. "Of course. But may I suggest some food first? Those kinds of talks generally go better on a full stomach. Helps keep the head clear, or so they say."

"Yes, of course." Phedre said, agreeing without thought just to end her embarrassment. Her purpose was ebbing away with every word spoken, and she worried she wouldn't have the courage to go to him again. Instead of talking about her own inadequacy, she turned to Leliana and asked, "what do you think of him?"

"I would tell you that the Commander is good at his job, a careful and smart general, but that isn't what you want to hear. He's handsome, honorable and very enamored of you."

Phedre's face lit up as she asked, "Is he?"

"Yes." Leliana pressed a hand to her arm, guiding her out of her own room. "Breakfast is this way."

"Right, breakfast." Phedre echoed, her mind definitely other places.

Leliana didn't grin as she led the Inquisitor to breakfast, but she certainly had no trouble laughing about it with Josephine later. It was refreshing to see such innocence in love, and if any two people needed some relief, it was the Commander and the Inquisitor. She was glad to see they might find it in each other.


	25. The Kiss

Phedre wasn't quite sure how she got back to her room after seeing Cullen. Cullen. She smiled when she thought of him. They were...she didn't know what they were officially to be called. Perhaps he was her lover or boyfriend, but they were together. That was what was making her smile.

She'd headed Leliana's advice and went down to breakfast before she went to see Cullen, but then she'd been waylaid by visiting dignitaries, questions from Josephine, an urgent missive that couldn't be ignored, a flirtatious courtier from Orlais who apparently didn't understand that her backside wasn't his for the pinching, and several other annoyances. By the time she got to Cullen's tower, she almost lost her nerve. It would have been easier to walk away, to go take the nap she desperately wanted and rest up before her next trip out. She had to go to the Fallow Mire and rescue the kidnapped Inquisition soldiers and face whatever challenge this Avvar had for her. It would have been easier to walk away.

Phedre couldn't just turn away, not when she'd decided that this was the day. Inappropriate thoughts about her Commander had led to her distracted daydreaming at all times. She thought of him after a good fight, thinking about what she'd tell him about the encounter and whether or not he'd be impressed by her actions. Cullen remained her in thoughts as she prepared to sleep, thoughts of his rare and sweet smile lulling her to calm after days when she'd done nothing but fight. There were other times that she thought of him, those deep dark times when she couldn't sleep and he brought a flush to her whole body or when she was bleeding and in pain and needed something good to focus on. Without ever knowing it, he'd become her refuge from the hardest parts of her life.

When she entered his office, Cullen was leaning over his desk looking at what she assumed was a report. He didn't look up when she came in, not until she came up close to his desk and he realized that she was no messenger or patrol. As he greeted her, she blew out a hard breath, marshaling her confidence. They needed to speak alone she told him, and let him lead her out onto the battlements.

Her confession was inelegant, stumbling. She was a mage, and if there ever was a cliche it was a mage wanting a templar. To her they'd always been more than that, and after Haven, after almost dying in the clutches of Corypheus, she didn't have it in her to care about how it looked to anyone outside. Cullen cared for her and she for him, even if had taken a catastrophe to bring it into focus.

That first kiss caught her by surprise. It was rougher for the interruption, and held so much of him, of his bottled up want, of _Cullen_ , that she was almost rocked off her feet by it. It was hungry and insistent, his mouth pressing against hers in a way that told her more than words ever could. If she'd doubted that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, that kiss washed it away.

The second kiss was gentler, his soft mouth still hitched in a lopsided grin as he leaned in to kiss her again. It still was fiery, hungry, greedy - but he controlled them. She didn't want control, not after all this time. A hand went to his head, bringing Cullen closer to her. Phedre didn't want safe, not just then. Her mouth opened and her tongue met his lips and he parted them, deepening their kiss. A rumble formed in the depths of his chest, and she could feel it through his armor, feel him pressing against her and she made sure to press back. Phedre leaned into him getting as close as she could, feeling his heat and tasting his tongue as it moved uncertainly against her own. Oh Maker. The wind whipped around them, and she dimly heard the clanking hobnailed boots of the guards walking past them, but there was no ending this.

More kisses melded into one, her hands mussing his hair, eager just to be touching him. She did her best to breathe, to trade air with him and try and remember to bring it in before she passed out. She felt his hands on her, his hips pinning her to ramparts, fingers touching her face, in her hair, running down her sides. They were in their own little bubble - the sun could have gone dark before she would have noticed time passing. It was all blissful heat and the giddy euphoria of shared desire between the two of them. Cullen had to be the one to pull away, because she couldn't, not this time.

Life in the Circle was one of control, of maintaining the few boundaries that are allowed. Spellcasting is a discipline, and she was good at it. Life among the nobility was just as focused and full of strain and rules. He must have felt them too, even if he was a commoner and a templar, he wasn't free of that. Together, in this Inquisition, they were free. She didn't have to let go if she didn't want to, there was no chance to someone would come along and make them break apart, confining them to their rooms once they did. His lips held the allure of the mundane, the ability to love freely and without secrets, that which had always been denied her.

" _Phedre_." She wasn't even aware that Cullen had stopped kissing her until he muttered her name. His lips were so closer that she could feel them move as he formed the word.

"So you do know my name." She replied, and Cullen laughed. He held her face in both of his big hands, and she felt as warm and happy as she'd ever been.

"I can't call you 'Inquisitor' when we're like this."

"No, I suppose not. I much prefer hearing you say my name at any rate." She closed her eyes briefly, then reopened them. "I know you're going to stop kissing me, that we should stop. Just once more before we have to go back to work."

His smile was nothing but light, spreading across his face and changing his features to make them even more handsome. "If you insist."

Their last kiss was softer, because they knew it was the last, at least for that moment. But it was the one that made her shake when she recalled it. It hadn't been as potent as their first kiss or as unbridled as the one after, but it was special. More kisses would come, and it was as if they were preparing each other for all they'd endure between them with that last kiss.

When she saw Cullen at dinner that night, he blushed but held her gaze. She was due to leave on the morrow, but she wasn't going to go without stopping by to see Cullen. She would need another goodbye kiss to guard her against the Mire.


	26. Library Books

The library at Skyhold was becoming one of Cullen's favorite places. But then again, libraries had always been a favorite place of his, even before he was a templar. The quiet was comfortable, and they were usually cool in the summer, and warm in the winter. He had loved reading in the Circle, it was one of the best ways to wind into sleep when he had no desire to recite the Chant to himself or drink until passing out. He'd confiscated many good books in Kirkwall, and read them himself instead of putting them in the fire. Well, there were quite a few terrible books too, but that was to be expected. He blamed himself for continuing to read a tome called _Hessarian's Spear_ after he figured out what it was about. It had been educational, in its way.

Skyhold's library was still growing. The mages and other researchers ordered what they could, and there were some very old tomes that they found with the building. He liked to walk through it, to smell the ink and parchment and leather. Nothing smelled like the library. Plus, no one expected him to be there, so it was as good of a hiding place as any. Not that he needed to hide, rather just some time to clear his head every once in a while. An army comprised mostly of eager recruits and templars made time to himself necessary in a way it hadn't been before. Recruits were the same as ever, inexperienced and enthusiastic. The templars looked to him for guidance, for the lifeline of their Order. All of them belonged to the Inquisition now, under his command. His days were long, filled with training, meetings and reports and that was before he'd even gotten to lunchtime. Cullen relished his time away in the library, as infrequent as it was.

Dorian is the first to notice Cullen loitering around, a large hand covering the lettering on the front of a book that lists the notable families of the Free Marches. He's also picked up a book about Ostwick's history, but that one loosely held in his other hand. On the table nearby there's a pile of other books - nothing that he'd normally read, but Cullen's interest came from a different place. He doesn't want to impress the Inquisitor so much as learn about her, so if he has to study magical history or theory to have a discussion about the work she does outside of sealing rifts, he's willing to do it.

"She's my cousin, you know." Dorian said, not bothering to pretend like he hadn't read the same book.

"That would explain the magic." Cullen said, snapping the book closed as he looked over at Dorian.

"Yes, it probably does. But we're not close cousins by any means, generations apart. The Trevelyan on my family tree might even pre-date those living in Ostwick. I would be able to tell if I could see my family charts and compare them with hers, but we're here in Skyhold outside of civilization." Dorian laughed a little as he said it.

Cullen didn't want to talk about the Inquisitor, or rather about _Phedre_. It wasn't that Dorian was offending him, not at all, but it was so new that it felt fragile and vulnerable. A few kisses on the ramparts didn't make her into any permanent part of his life, not yet, despite his own desire to make it so. They were too new to feel steady, too vulnerable to outside stresses and punctures. His heart couldn't take any scrutiny or battering. The most important things, he'd always held them close and this was one of the most important things he'd ever had in his life.

He wanted her to come back so badly that it both startled and shamed him. She was the Inquisitor; she was a powerful mage that could handle herself. She sealed rifts, and only she could do it. He'd always worried for her, as he did for all of his soldiers, but now she was more to him than a solider. They were...whatever _they_ were. Together. She held such a special place, a space he hadn't even known he could find again in his heart. All that he wanted was to be able to hold her close until she had to go out again, to fight and face dangers that no one else could face, while he was left behind to hope she would be okay. Anything he said about her was tied to his heart, that deeply private spot that he'd created just for her. He didn't want to talk about her because he felt too much, and his words were insufficient in the face of it.

Cullen turned to Dorian, aware that he'd been silent for too long. Dorian had a sort of bored, expectant look on his face as he knew his thoughts were far away with Phedre and he was about to spill them out.

"I find myself with some free time. Would you care for a game of chess?" Cullen asked, steering Dorian away from the topic of Phedre altogether. While he appreciated Dorian giving him the opening, he wasn't going to twist their friendship to be about his new relationship.

Dorian didn't mask his surprise, but rallied at once. "Certainly. You're the best player here, and I never mind honing my skills."

"I promise not to be too easy to beat then." He said, and Dorian laughed.

"I have been practicing with Leliana you know."

Cullen laughed. "Then you might even win this time." They were moving towards the stairs, when Cullen remembered the books he'd been leafing through. Books that would help him understand magic more, an in turn, Phedre. He hardly had the time for it, but he would make time, he supposed. If she could, then so could he. He stopped a Tranquil and asked her to take them to his office for him. She agreed and he moved on, catching up to where Dorian stood waiting.

The Tevinter raised an eyebrow at him, but Cullen didn't acknowledge it. He wasn't going to leave the books, they might get lost or re-shelved wrong and he'd never find them again. He still had an interest in reading them, even if he wasn't going to talk Dorian's ear off about Phedre. He still wanted to know about her, as much as he could find out. But he wouldn't let it take over his conversations no matter how she, or the two of them together dominated his thoughts. Instead him kept on going forward, down the stairs and towards the garden.

Dorian smiled at his back as he followed the stoic Commander down the stairs.


	27. The Weekly Tea

Josephine didn't insist on the weekly interludes just because she enjoyed hosting an afternoon tea. Truthfully, from time to time it was a pain, because Leliana could be so secretive, and Cullen so closed-mouthed when it came to anything but work. Still, she knew from her past experience that team-building was as important to do as any other task in their work. If she couldn't maintain good ties with her closest colleagues, then she could hardly represent the Inquisition very well.

This week should have been no different than any other time - she hadn't been expecting it to be. But Cullen was different, even more visibly worried and distracted when he got there. The whole of Skyhold had heard about him and the Inquisitor kissing on the ramparts outside his office. She'd heard of money changing hands in the barracks, soldiers had been betting on who would get closest to whom. She had seen this coming from far away. Had she any sense, she would have gotten in on the money early and made a good deal of coin. A smile crossed her face at the thought, but she would never have actually bet any money. 

Cassandra only came when she wasn't out in the field. Her attendance was most reluctant, but she did seem to realize the value of their meetings. This afternoon Cassandra, Cullen and Leliana joined her at the table. She beamed at all of them but only received lukewarm responses. Bah! They would all thank her for these little chances to decompress one of these days.

"Do you have those little sandwich cookies, Josie?" Leliana always went for the sweets first. Josehphine nodded and passed her the plate. Cullen took one as well. She was beginning to think the Commander had an incurable sweet tooth. He never went for food when he could first have dessert. 

"I have little to report." Cassandra stated. "Our last trip to the Hinterlands ended with us fighting several bears. Their claws are awful. I think the Inquisitor plans to go back there soon, because she told me to rest up so I could 'wrestle' more bears."

The table laughs, but Josephine isn't sure whether or not it was the Seeker's intent to be funny. Leliana begins her own speculation about where the Inquisitor should go next, but Cullen stays silent. It's been nine days since she left Skyhold, and Josephine can see his worry lines in his face. His hair is sticking up at odd angles, rumpled from running his hands through it so often. Pity stirs inside of her and for a moment she wonders how he will handle this - she is always gone, always in danger. They live in dangerous times. But Josephine gives him a small smile and then speaks up.

"Actually, I just received word this morning; a note from the Herald. She will be returning soon from the Fallow Mire. She saved our soldiers, all of them and established several camps. Her plans are to rest and restock then make her way to Crestwood to meet up with Hawke." Josephine informed the group at large.

This ignites a new discussion, one of the Wardens. Cullen looks his relief as Leliana and Cassandra argue about how necessary Grey Wardens are post-Blight. He never gets into such arguments, though once they did try to draw him in. All he said was "The Hero of Ferelden saved my life" and he never spoke against her Order. It was a discussion that Josephine had little interest in as well, and she did her best to move the conversation onto more productive issues.

It was more tiring than entertaining this time around, but she didn't feel like her efforts were wasted. They always do come together towards the end, only other obligations taking them from their seats. She let the others drift back to their own duties, but stopped Cullen before he could leave.

There was a note for Cullen that came with the other message. It was small, rolled tightly and had "Commander Cullen" written on the outside in small letters. Josephine hadn't unrolled it to see what it said. She could admit to a little curiosity, but Cullen's relationship with the Inquisitor was his own and it was not her place to snoop. Still, she did hope the best for the two of them. Back in Haven they were so obviously attracted to one another and couldn't do anything about it, she was glad to see that changed at Skyhold. If they hadn't gotten together on their own, she and Leliana had already concocted a plan to help things along, but she was glad it wouldn't be needed.

When Cullen is back in his own office, he unclenches the fist that holds her note. He recognized her small, neat writing from all the reports they'd passed between each other. That he recognizes her hand as hers, that fills him with a strange sort of happiness in knowing. The letter is short, but it makes him smile nonetheless.

"Cullen,  
You are missed. Thoughts of you keep me warm at night. I am safe, but smelly. When I get back, I will kiss your face until my lips chap. After I have a bath.  
Phedre"

After that, whenever she sent in her field reports, the Inquisitor always included a note for the Commander.


	28. A Picnic

Phedre swung into Cullen's office one evening after he hadn't bothered to show up to dinner, yet again. Maker, the nobles and their bickering had been epic that night, sending Josephine into a right state. Vivienne, who never bothered to look flustered, had just been bored of the posturing and went back to her 'room'. But Phedre, oh no, she'd endured all of it, barely getting any food down as she placated yet another uptight noble.

It was a fine welcome back to Skyhold after almost two weeks away. Her time in the Fallow Mire hadn't been pleasant, nor fun. She'd been looking forward to coming back and sleeping in her bed, not on the ground. Though she'd seen Cullen earlier in the day, and he'd given her a proper welcome back with a kiss on the battlements, they hadn't spent any time together. She'd thought maybe after dinner they'd get away together, but he hadn't shown up.

So here she was with a picnic basket, because she was willing to bet that he hadn't eaten at all. It was a cold supper and wine, better than whatever might have been scrounged up by Cullen. Probably better than whatever was served to the soldiers, though she wasn't sure. Hot food might have been more welcome than her fare, but Cullen perked up when she came into the room and told him she had his dinner.

"I was too busy to get down there tonight. I am sorry. It wasn't meant as a slight on your presence," he said.

"It's all right. Bunch of poncey nobles bickering again, hoping to impress me by annoying me or so it seemed."

Cullen laughed a warm, husky little laugh. "Where shall we eat?" he asked.

Phedre pointed upstairs to the rickety floor above them. She didn't understand how he could live up there, but he did. "Less chance of someone walking in on us, and you're still here if they need you."

"What if someone needs you?" he asked.

Phedre cleared her throat, unsure of how to put what she wanted to say. "I, um, thought I would spend time with you while I could. It's...seeing you is what's important to me right now. The rest will sort itself out."

Cullen bestowed a warm smile on her, and for a short time they stood in silence, grinning at each other until he spoke. "Go on up. I'll join you in a moment."

She went upstairs and looked around. Her eyes skimmed over the bed but then disregarded it. No one wanted crumbs in the bed, even if he did have a hole in his roof. So she picked out a nice spot of floor with a carpet on it, put her blanket down over it and set out the food. Her bottle of wine was opened and she poured a good measure into two tankards.

There wasn't much, but it was mostly meant for him since she'd eaten earlier. Truthfully, she hadn't thought to bring him some food until she realized she hadn't seen him at dinner. But they had food and wine, and all that needed to go along with it. She'd checked three times - Phedre didn't want to interrupt them because they needed utensils or napkins or whatever. She spent little enough time with Cullen as it was.

He ascended the ladder not long after she'd gotten most of the food out and smiled at her. "Shall I light the lantern?" he asked, and she nodded. A little more light would be welcome. It was growing dark and would be night soon.

He brought it over and sat down with her. "This is lovely," he said.

"I'm glad you like it."

"It was thoughtful of you," he said, then blushed. Maker's breath. As much as they liked each other, he was still somewhat shy when they were alone.  When he blushed, it made her feel bashful, as if it were contagious.

"Let's eat, shall we?" she asked, but passed him a plate before he could reply.

They spoke of nothing much at first, goings on at Skyhold that they hadn't gotten to talk about before, her time in the Fallow Mire. Cullen let her dominate the conversation so he could eat, but when a lull came, he spoke up.

"Is this really how you want to be courted, my lady?" He was looking at her as if he honestly couldn't believe that this was what she wanted. As if at any moment she were going to get up, declare that she couldn't do this and slide down the ladder. But that was the furthest thing from Phedre's mind.

"Yes. I wouldn't have come here to see you with a picnic basket if I didn't want a picnic," she said, smiling at him. "But I know what you mean. I've never even considered courting before. The Circle, well, you know what it was like. At least you're not trying to get me into the closest broom closet before we get caught."

Cullen blushed at her statement. Apparently he didn't have the same Circle experiences she'd had. She was a little surprised, but then again, she'd heard about Kirkwall. It didn't sound like much fun was ever had there. Still, people always find a way, she knew that too well.

"I wouldn't want to be too forward. We shouldn't...do anything before we're ready. Both of us."

"I agree. It was just." Phedre sighed then started again. "This is all new for me. I'm not very good at it, but I had hoped you wouldn't notice. It's a lot more fucking difficult than in the novels."

He nodded at her and took a sip of his wine. When neither of them spoke again, she took another drink. This was more trying than anything she'd ever read about, but it was also theirs. She could live with silences and awkwardness if it lead somewhere good in the end.

"Did you really get pulled into a broom closet?" he asked.

"Yes," she giggled. "I think I was deflowered in a broom closet. Or behind the stacks in the library. I can't remember. It was very quick."

"Oh." Cullen looked down at his empty plate, then over his own shoulder. Anywhere but at her. "It's been a while since I've had any intimacy. Never with anyone in the Circle or another templar."

"Would you like more wine?" Phedre asked.

"Maker, yes."

She laughed again and he smiled at her over the rim of his refilled cup. The silence between them was comfortable, but she wanted to talk. It was just that her mind couldn't think of anything interesting or not ridiculous to talk about. There were so many things to say, and none of them would form correctly in her mind to make a coherent sentence.

"I told you of my siblings when we were playing chess, but I didn't hear about yours. Tell me about your family." Cullen said after a while.

"There isn't much to tell. The Trevelyans - _modest in temper, bold in deed_. That's the motto anyway. I'm the youngest of five. None of the others are mages, but I do have a sister that's a sister in the Chantry. She's very pious, but can be grating. My eldest brother is my father's heir, but he's always been there for me. We're thirteen years apart, so he was kind of like an uncle more than a brother. I adore him and his wife, Ava."

She told him a few family stories after that, and Cullen laughed in the right parts and asked a few more questions. The bottle of wine was disappearing between them. He told her more of his family, of fishing with his father before he joined the templars, of his home in Ferelden. He had missed it very much while he was in the Free Marches, but never thought to come back.

As she drank her wine and it went more and more to her head, Phedre propped herself up against one of the walls and sat, watching him. He blushed an awful lot when he talked to her, lost some of the cool he had as commander, but his smile came easier when they were alone. It felt silly to think on, but she liked him so much. Even if he hadn't been interested in her, she still would have respected him, thought him interesting and careful and kind. While she was looking at him, she endured his scrutiny as well and Phedre wondered what he made of her. Cullen was still sitting across from her, but he'd moved closer. He was close enough to reach out and take her hand, and though she wanted him to, he hadn't yet.

"Since we're being honest with each other, may I ask you a question that's been on my mind?" he asked.

"Of course."

"Why did you save the templars instead of the mages?" Cullen asked, and though his voice didn't change, she could hear the curiosity behind the question.

Phedre sighed and looked heavenward, through the hole in Cullen's ceiling and up to the stars. Skyhold had such a clear view most nights, she could count the pinpricks of light in the sky if she were so inclined. It was tempting to do so, just so she didn't have to answer Cullen's question. But she would.

"Pour me more wine," she instructed, holding out her tankard. He did and she took a gulp before starting, "Hi, I'm the Inquisitor, sometimes called the Herald of Andraste, and I'm the most naive asshole in Thedas because I thought I could go back and save them all."

At her words Cullen made a face. Whatever he had been expecting her to say, that wasn't it, and shock and pity mingled on his face. Seeing his pity just made her feel even worse. "No, please, no pity. Not for me," Phedre said, and waved a hand at him.

"You thought you could save both the mages and the templars?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She hung her head. "Yes. I know it was stupid. I thought you were right, we needed to weaken the Breach, not add more magic to it. The rebels in Redcliffe, the Tevinters, the time magic -- that shit just scared me. I found this shed where they had those Ocularium skulls. You know how they make those?" Cullen shook his head and she continued, angry and flushed. "They fucking murder Tranquil. The Tranquil, who won't even defend themselves, and never hurt anyone. It's barbaric. The mages had let the Tevinters push the Tranquil out of Redcliffe, away from protection. I was so disgusted by Fiona, by her obvious inability to see where strong magic had been applied and fight against it, to take care of her people. It was so fucking horrible, Cullen." Phedre felt tears start a trail down her face, but now that she was talking, she couldn't stop.

"And I thought that I could go back after I got the templars and confront that magister. I was so foolish. I thought that time would stand still." She gave a hard laugh. "All that time magic, and it never worked in my favor. I met so many of them, of the mages in Redcliffe. There was a girl from Ostwick. Such a fucking prick, but she doesn't deserve to be whatever it is that Venatori asshole is going to turn her into. I met Connor Guerrin. And this bloke from Hossberg, and that Tranquil that I sent to work for you. So many good people, and most of them are gone. I suppose I'll have to fight them one of these days. I killed Fiona at Haven, did you know that?"

"No, I didn't," Cullen said softly.

"Yes, she came with the Venatori. But by then, I wasn't as confused or as angry. She was used. We'd closed the Breach and I just felt sorry; sorry that I hadn't been able to come back and help them too. I was going to go the next morning, and it was too late. I was too late."

Phedre drained her mug and slumped down the wall to the floor, looking up at the sky. Anywhere besides at Cullen was a good place to look. She heard him moving and then he laid down next to her and took her hand in his. It was warm through his glove, and strong.

"I'm so sorry for them, for myself. They just wanted to be free. Not every Circle was like Ostwick. I loved my life there."

She exhausted her tears, but Phedre wasn't much of a crier. Her words seemed used up too, and Cullen just lay there with her. She was sure that he was sneaking looks at her, but she didn't turn to look at him. They were quiet for a long while.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Cullen said.

"Suppose it needed to come out. I still feel wretched about it," she admitted. He squeezed her hand in response.

"You are not responsible for the actions of the Venatori. They altered time and attacked you. If I had not been part of the Inquisition, I would not have believed all that they did to get to you. And still, you thwarted them. For all that we have lost, you've won so much. Not all victories are decisive, Phedre."

"Can we talk about something else?"

"If that is your wish."

She sat up to look at him, but held onto his hand. Cullen remained on his back, but looked up at her. "Why didn't you date in Kirkwall?"

He sighed, and she could tell he was gathering his thoughts as he turned away from her. "It is a long story, but I thought that part of my life was done. Templars are not encouraged to have relationships and families. I have never desired to get married or be a father. If it wasn't part of the plan set by the Order, I didn't think I needed it in my life. Leaving the Order has given me a different perspective." He looked up at her when he said that, but Phedre kept her expression neutral. When he didn't speak, she nodded in understanding.

"At any rate, when I arrived in Kirkwall, I was not in a good state. If I had been interested in pursuing a relationship, I would have been a poor candidate. Then when I became Knight-Captain, I simply did not have the time. Kirkwall held plenty of work for me, with its political instability, the Qunari and the rampant maleficars. Then the Knight-Commander went mad and the city fell apart completely, and there simply wasn't time to breathe, let alone date. When Cassandra asked me to join the Inquisition, I'd spent ten years in Kirkwall and there was no one for me to leave behind except the few members of the Order and a handful of friends in the city guard."

Cullen rolled to his side and rested his head on one hand, then smiled at her. "It all worked out, didn't it? Any ties from Kirkwall might have prevented you and I from getting together."

Phedre laughed, the sound a little too loud due to the wine. "I was just thinking that I first met you going into the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but I was in prison when you met me. Passed out cold in prison with a strange magic mark on my hand. That's no way to find people you want to date, Cullen."

At that he laughed as well. "I suppose you were. Cassandra was very sure that you were to blame and should be executed. I am glad she was wrong."

"As am I. I like living. And I'm very fond of this man I met on a mountain while demons were dropping from the sky."

"Varric does have a way about him," Cullen mused and Phedre snorted. He joined in her laughter and when it subsided, he stood up and offered her his hand.

"Come on. We should call it a night before you can't get down the ladder," he said.

Phedre let him help her up, then didn't let go of him. She kissed him, pulling him down to her to close the gap between them. She could feel him smile when their lips met, his mouth slanting against her as they kissed. When Phedre started to move back, he kissed her again. That kiss felt familiar, because it was a goodbye kiss. It was sweeter, perhaps, because he would see her on the morrow. Maybe it was goodnight instead of goodbye, but it was over too quickly for her liking. Drink made her hands wonder a little more freely, and she cursed that Cullen was still wearing his armor. He stilled her hands by catching them in his as he dropped one last kiss on her lips.

"I hope you dream of me tonight, Cullen," Phedre said as she got ready to leave his bedroom. She had one foot on his ladder, ready to leave. The picnic basket was still on the floor, but Cullen had promised to take care of it for her. He gave her a look as he answered.

"I hope that too. Goodnight, Phedre."

"Goodnight."

She made it back to her bed in a warm haze, a little tipsy and feeling the imprint of Cullen's lips on hers. Perhaps he didn't dream of her, but he wove in and out of her pleasant dreams all night long.


	29. Crestwood

There was little good to be found in Crestwood. It was in some ways so typically Ferelden, a little trading village on the main road, an inn and some merchants, an old castle from when the barbarian banns fortified themselves behind stone walls and warred with one another. The Blight had stripped Ferelden of so much of its levity, the folksy charm that made it a place to visit rather than a destination to avoid. 

Phedre wished she'd come to Ferelden before the Blight, but she had been in her own world. All the news from Ferelden was scanty during that time, and many doubted there was a Blight. At the time she'd been glad to be out of the path of danger. Crestwood hadn't been so lucky. Their undead was just another grim reminder of all that had been lost during the Blight.

Rain dripped down her collar and pooled there, chilling her. She looked out towards the lake, where the light from the rift cast green shadows across the rippling water. They had to close that rift before she could meet Hawke and her warden friend. Their meeting could be delayed a little longer, but she wasn't sure Crestwood would survive another night. "This place is a clusterfuck," she announced to her companions, as if they hadn't already come to that conclusion on their own.

"Plenty of problems, yea, but also, plenty of arrows," Sera said.

She wanted to respond with a hearty "And lots of magic" or a promising "We'll help", but she couldn't. The overwhelming feeling of wanting to go home enveloped her as rain sluiced down the back of her neck in its well-worn path. She wanted her bed, the less rainy climate of Skyhold, to have dinner with Cullen. She wanted to turn around and leave Crestwood, but she'd seen the face of that elven woman that the Wardens were protecting, talked to the mayor and the Chantry sister holding services. She couldn't leave, and her heart didn't truly want to go, it was just weary. Tired already of problems that seemed to stack on top of each other and grow instead of getting nicely checked off her list. 

She wondered if Inquisitors got vacations, but there was no place for her to go with Corypheus lurking in the background. He was always the danger that existed just our of reach, but never out of mind. There would be no world for her to relax in if she let him fulfill his plans unchecked. The faces of the people she loved, the people she would let down filled her mind. Rifts were his doing, and only she could seal them. She would, so long as she could. Another sigh escaped her and Blackwall gave her a hard look. Phedre smiled at him, though it was hard to arrange her face pleasantly after so much scowling. She would have to see this through, as she'd already promised. People were faring much worse than she was, just happy to be alive. When had that stopped being enough for her? The thought made guilt seep through her like the rain on her skin.

She walked towards the big keep they had to take and said nothing. Her gait was stiff from riding so much, but Phedre never said anything about that anymore either. Complaining always made it worse, she'd found and took away the little joy that came from their small victories. They would help this town, she would meet with Hawke and the Warden, and then she'd go and have a long bath and dinner with Cullen.

"Let's go." Phedre said, as if her companions weren't already behind her. They had a bunch of bandits to evict.


	30. A Talk

"Are you sure this note is from her?" Cullen asked, eyeing the missive in his hand with suspicion.

"Yes, Ser. Sister Leliana gave it to me herself after she sealed it."

"Alright." Cullen said, and left his office. The runner left too, going in the opposite direction, back towards Skyhold.

Cullen strode across the grounds until he reached the destination mentioned in the note. He would have thought she would choose some disused store room to meet in, but Leliana had asked him to go to a copse of trees that lined the snowy road to Skyhold. He inspected the road as he walked it - the soldiers had done well when they put it down. The merchant caravans could ask for no more, it was wide and mostly level, save for where the wheels of carts had worn trenches into the ground.

"Cullen." Leliana called to him as he approached, and when he reached her, they walked together. There were soldiers along the road, scouts and sentries, but no one did more than respectfully salute as they went past.  It was much quieter here than he'd realized.  Quiet suited him, most of the time.

Soon they were further away, and Leliana turned to him. "I didn't want to be overheard, for your sake."

"For my sake?" Cullen asked.

"Yes." Leliana said. "I was there when the Hero of Ferelden saved you during the Blight."

Cullen stiffened, but nodded. They'd discussed this once before, briefly. Leliana went on. "I know you know I traveled with her, but do you remember? I offered you water but you were too hurt to accept it. It had been a long time since you'd seen anything but demons."

The memory was dim and hazy with pain, but her words rang true. He tried not to think on those times much, it was too hard for him. Leliana played her part in the Blight, and he wondered how it was for her. She fought her way to him, through demons and abominations. They endured much just in Kinloch Hold alone, doing their best to save everyone.

"I never thanked you." Cullen offered, but she waved it away. He saw her smile flicker under her hood.

"There was no need. I wish the sloth demon hadn't delayed us, we might have saved more templars. But that is not why I bring it up." She kicked at a rock and Cullen watched it skitter across the road.  It went into a small bush and scared out a bird that had alighted upon the shrubbery.  Leliana watched it fly away.  "Does Lady Trevelyan know?" She asked, and turned to look at him.

"No. I've told her that I prefer not to speak about the Blight, and she hasn't inquired again."

Leliana nodded thoughtfully, then spoke slowly.  "Many years ago, I was deceived by someone close to me. My bardmaster was the traitor, yet she set me up. The betrayal was the worst part, though I did not enjoy my capture and torture." Cullen made to speak, but she held up her hand. "When I met the Warden, I told her. She helped me, and later she helped me deal with Marjolaine."

Cullen stayed silent, his arms crossed over his chest. He wanted her to go on, but words escaped him. She was not normally this forthcoming, but he suspected this was her way of reaching out. The guarded parts of her were dangerous, long hardened by life, but she was still a compassionate, understanding person. Had he not known of adeptness at intrigue, he would have said she was too guileless for the Game of Orlais. Maybe in her younger years she might have been, when conversations like this were part of her every day instead of strained walks in the woods with him.

"I know it isn't the same, but the telling is helpful. Like drawing the poison out of a wound, and this is an old wound, Commander. It hasn't healed very well, has it? You might consider letting the Inquisitor closer to you. Both Justinia and the Warden helped me, just by listening and being there.  Friends are wonderful, if you let them be."

Cullen thought back on Kirkwall, and how things might have gone there if there had been someone, anyone, to talk with. There had been Hawke, but the two of them hadn't been close friends by any means. Hindsight made him wish for friendship, for the camaraderie he shared with Cassandra, the ease he found in Josephine's genteel presence, and for this moment he was having with Leliana.  He didn't waste his time wishing for a past romantic entanglement, not when he had Phedre now.  But he when closed his eyes to consider Leliana's words, he did wish that Phedre was at Skyhold more often, though he knew it was selfish of him to want so much of her for himself in a time of war.

"Thank you." Cullen said, his voice lower than he'd intended. "For everything." He met her eyes when he said the last part, and she nodded. They walked back towards Skyhold, speaking of business that had come up during the day. He had to get back in time to train more recruits, and was sure a mountain of reports had shown up in his absence. There was a strange knot in his chest, one that felt for Leliana and all that she'd been through in the past to get here. Her Blight may have been different than his, but none of them escaped unscathed.


	31. Hawke Says Hi

Cullen had to blink twice when he saw Hawke again. She'd visited before, but he hadn't seen her at more than a distance. There had been no time for him to seek her out, not then when they'd first come to Skyhold and such a great number of things had required his attention. After Haven, the whole of the Inquisition mourned and reeled from the turn of events. He didn't remember much about those days, just the Varric and Cassandra had been at odds about Hawke, who'd shown up to talk to Phedre and then left in a hurry. He hadn't even spoken to her. But there she was, eating an apple in his doorway and looking to all the world as if she were totally at ease.

He knew she wasn't just by the way she held herself. They'd worked together closely with the rebuilding of Kirkwall, and they knew each other well. There had been many long days of work and recovery between them. Her tension was carefully hidden, but it was there in the arrangement of her limbs and the way her eyes scanned all around his office, as if a threat might leap from one of the corners at any moment.

"I was wondering when you'd come by." Cullen said, giving her a half-smile as he looked up from his work.

"Here I thought you might seek me out, just for a friendly chat." Hawke replied. They had been friends of a sort in Kirkwall. He was no longer sure if she still held him in such esteem, but he would always respect her.

"I wasn't sure you would welcome it."

Hawke laughed and threw her apple core over the battlements before coming into his office. "We're friends, stupid." she said simply, as if they'd never been at odds, yelled at each other or fought together. Friends seemed a strange way to encompass all that had passed between the two of them. "Maker, Cullen. Couldn't they even get you a proper office?"

"This was my choice. I like it here." Cullen answered, not offended in the least.

She came over and stood in front of him, hands on her hips. "You finally left Kirkwall. I'm glad."

"You were worried I wouldn't leave, Viscountess?"

"You have the type of mentality that goes down with the ship, as the saying goes."

"How is Captain Isabela?" he asked. He had a fondness for the pirate, even if her actions in the qunari attack were ill-advised. He still believed they would have never withdrawn peacefully and that her theft had just been the push needed to make their aggression boil over. Cullen liked Isabela, and knew what she meant to the Champion.

"It's Admiral Isabela now." Hawke grinned at him. "She's got a hat and everything. But fine, so far as I heard. Out on the ocean blue, having fun without me. But we're fine. It's everyone else I worry about. I thought Kirkwall was bad, but you've managed to really get into the middle of it this time." She made a face at him, and he saw her drawing into herself, growing graver. 

"Nice place your Inquisitor has here. It reminds me of Hightown in a way, but with less nobles fucking in front of the windows." she said, and cackled as Cullen blanched at her choice of words and the memory they drew to the forefront. She'd invited him to her estate once just so he could see her exhibitionist neighbors when he didn't believe her tales about them. That thought was sadly something he couldn't forget, though he sorely wanted wished he could.

"Anyway, I just wanted to say hello. I'm happy that you're here. With the Inquisition, not the templars." Hawke said, then she paused and added casually, "she's very in love with you, you know. Her Worship, the Herald of Andraste. Your Inquisitor. Well done, Knight-Commander."

His first reaction was to be annoyed at the use of his former title, but he realized she was just paying him back in kind. Before he could make to tease her back, the words that preceded it hit him. He had expected a comment about him and the Inquisitor, maybe a little teasing, but nothing he didn't already hear around the Inquisition. Josephine and Leliana still snickered at his attempts to be professional around Phedre, the way he had to smother his smile at the sight of her, or refrain from taking her hand when she moved pieces around the war table. But Hawke's observation threw him for a loop. The silence between them stretched a beat too long as he composed himself. 

"What makes you say that?" he asked.

Hawke gave a very enigmatic shrug and turned away from him, towards the door. "She looks at you the way I feel about Bela." She faced him, framed by the doorway. "Does that make sense?"

He nodded. "It's been good to see you again, Hawke."


	32. Not Too Far

The snow began as light little flurries that drifted down from the sky in lazy circles. It was nothing more than the shifting of winds over Skyhold. Cullen paid it no mind as he walked around, tending to his duties. The recruits needed more practice, he had to speak with Cassandra and he was hoping to do a status check of the perimeter before night fell. The snow, though it wasn't heavy, almost reminded him of being in Haven in the early days of the Inquisition. It was strange to feel nostalgic about a place when their departure felt so fresh in his mind.

When all of his tasks were accomplished save for the walking of the perimeter, Cullen met up with the Inquisitor. She'd been waiting in his office for him, and though she didn't say why, he knew. Phedre made the perimeter walk with him, his final task for the day. He went around inspecting and speaking to people as they walked, her by his side. They didn't touch, but he felt that people treated them as a couple anyway, despite their attempt at remaining professional. In their wake, people smiled knowingly at the sight of them, and one templar winked at him while Phedre spoke to another. If having her at his side didn't make Cullen so happy, he might have minded the gentle teasing, but as it was, he didn't.

He kissed her up on the ramparts, when they were away from most prying eyes. The soldiers up there had learned to give them their space, and Cullen took advantage. Snow came down upon them, but even a snowflake couldn't get between them. She pulled him close to absorb some of his body heat, spurred closer when Cullen felt her shiver in his arms. Here, up above Skyhold, with Phedre, he felt free, happy in a way he hadn't known in Kirkwall. Her breasts pressed against the solidity of his chestplate, sending a tiny trill of pleasure through him when he became aware of the contact. He held her, arms enveloping her slighter frame as she rested her cheek in the hollow of his neck, heating the underside of his chin with each breath. It was with some reluctance that he drew apart from her to resume their walk, this one last task still only half done.

They reached the main entry of Skyhold after a very long circuit. Snow stuck in Phedre's dark auburn hair, shining white clumps against the cold strands. It was heavier than it had been in the afternoon. She could not be very warm he realized, and ushered her into the main hall before she could protest. Phedre relaxed visibly in the warmth, the flakes of snow melting into her hair and at feet she stomped in place to make herself warmer. He hoped that there was stew tonight. 

When he made to leave, thanking her for coming with him, she caught his wrist. "Commander," she said. Cullen looked down her hand and then back at her face, hiding his bemusement.

"Your Worship?"

Phedre smiled at him, her head cocked to one side. She didn't relax her hold on him, not that he would have tried to pull away. "It's snowing."

"I am aware."

"You'll catch cold in your tower," Phedre said, frowning at him.

"It's very light snow. I stood out in worse all day in Haven. It will be fine," he said, but her slight frown turned into a full on scowl. 

Funny, how after knowing her those hard looks conveyed so much to him. At first he thought her just disagreeable, but then he'd learned. Her expressive face defaulted to a scowl when she was deep in thought or uneasy. With him, he guessed the latter, and knew she wouldn't let him go. 

People around were watching them from the corners of eyes, from behind fans and Orlesian masks. Varric was very carefully not looking at them, in a way that showed they had his full attention. Conversations had stalled out in their immediate vicinity, people eager for whatever they could witness and turn into gossip. He sighed. This was the part of being with Phedre he disliked most, the interest they inevitably garnered with even the most mundane actions.

"Please Cullen," Phedre began, but he nodded his assent without her saying anything more about it. There was no need to argue in the front of the main hall. 

He couldn't hide his blush as they retreated towards the door that led to her private quarters together, but Cullen didn't focus on the eyes around them, but rather the fact that Phedre wasn't going to let him sleep in his room while it was snowing. She worried for him. While he never wanted to add to her already weighty burdens, the care she showed brought a smile to his face.

The fire in her room was crackling, the cold kept out by curtains that had been put up to do just that during the day. It was a shame to cover the beautiful Serault glass, but it kept the heat in the room. She toed off her boots in the room and left them in a heap near her desk while he pulled her couch from its place near the stairs to in front of the fire. 

"I can ring for food," she offered, and he agreed quickly. The sun was setting already. When the servant came, and he made sure to ask for enough food for the two of them. Cullen ate quite a lot on any occasion, and it had been a long, cold day of training even before the snow began. The servant left with their hefty request and he was confident that he'd be gone for a while. 

"You can't be comfortable in your armor all the time," she said, almost convincing in her attempt at casual. 

This was not a conversation that they'd needed to have before. Though they were close, sex wasn't part of their relationship yet, despite the distracting thoughts he'd entertained from time to time. Cullen had no intention of bedding Phedre, at least not that night, but he'd agreed to stay in her quarters.

He smiled at her. "No, I'm not. I don't sleep in it, if that was your next question." He paused then said in a low voice, "I don't wear anything to sleep most nights."

Her answering laugh rang long and loud around the room. "And you wanted me to let you sleep in a place where the snow comes through the ceiling? Would if I could be a snowflake." She was still laughing as she finished her statement, but Cullen noticed the slight blush that warmed her cheeks.

Supper arrived and with a few words to the servant, shortly thereafter his lone pair of soft breeches and a tunic for sleeping also were delivered. They smelled of the cedar trunk where they resided most of the time and the cold from being carried from his tower. They passed the meal with comfortable chatter, both relived that they weren't eating at the formal dining table that night. Josephine and Vivienne both enjoyed the entertaining more, and only asked for Phedre's presence when it was necessary, and his even less.

There was still work for the both of them. A messenger quietly slipped in while they were eating and left their final reports and correspondence for the day. For a while, they worked in silence together on the couch, the crackle of the fire the only sound besides rustling parchments, the occasional scratching of a response being written. Her feet rested in his lap, and Cullen found himself looking down at them just to smile. 

"Do you want to bathe?" Phedre asked, tossing aside whatever missive she'd been reading. "I can ready the water for you if you'd like. Otherwise, I'm too tired to go on."

"No, I'll take care of that in the morning," Cullen said, then asked cautiously, "are you going to bathe now?"

"In the morning. It's better then, when everything is quiet." She slid her feet off of his lap. "Will you sleep in my bed, or here?"

He hadn't expected a choice. Truthfully, he'd thought to stay in front of the fire, all the better to mask his restless sleep and nightmares from her. Cullen hadn't yet shared the knowledge of his lingering problems with anyone save for Cassandra. Even she did not know the true extent of them. His resistance faltered at her simple question, and Cullen found himself agreeing to sleep in the bed with her. 

"Just sleeping," he clarified. 

"Of course," Phedre laughed. The sound was liquid - deep and sultry, inviting. But she said nothing else, and they both turned towards the creaking window. It was still snowing out, and the wind was gusting. She'd been right to make him abandon his tower. This was the worst weather they'd had since coming to Skyhold.

They retreated to separate corners of the room, she undressing and washing near her basin, and he watching her bare back until he remembered he was supposed to be shedding his armor. Candles were put out and the fire fed enough to ensure heat through the night. When Cullen turned back to her, he was only half done undressing, standing shirtless but in his sleeping trews. 

She was there before he registered her presence, and her arms were around his waist. Phedre rested her face on his back, and Cullen didn't move, enjoying the embrace. They stayed like that for another moment, then she pulled away. He turned to look at her, and couldn't help but have a small chuckle at her nightdress.

"You look Fereldan," he said, and laughed again. Her dress was plaidweave, heavy, and fell just past her knees. There was a little ribbon adorning the collar and sleeves, but it was mostly plain. It reminded him of something he'd seen at home in Honnleath before he'd left for the templars.

"It's the warmest thing I own for sleeping," she said, but was grinning back at him.

"I want to kiss you," he admitted. He'd been fighting down the urge all night, reliving their earlier kiss on the battlements instead of daring to take another. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a short ponytail, but wisps were already escaping their confines. He leaned forward to brush on back from her forehead.

"You can as long as we aren't laying down," Phedre said, and Cullen raised an eyebrow at her.

"Why not laying down?"

"Because I figure if we're already comfortable and laying there, there won't be any reason to stop. But now, look," she said and took a step back from him. "I'm already outside of kissing range."

Cullen stepped forward, closing the gap between them. "What makes you think that anything we can do laying down won't be more interesting standing up?" To emphasize his point, he picked Phedre up in a quick but strong embrace, bringing her face level with his. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He felt her thighs touching his bare skin, soft and strong as she anchored herself to him.

Then she kissed him, her lips harsher than he expected, hungry as they cut off his next bit of teasing. He maneuvered them towards the wall and broke off the kiss when he felt close to it. There were a few more paces, but Cullen pressed her back up against it, pressing her between him and the wall for support. Phedre resumed their kiss once he had, thighs tight around his waist, arms looped over his neck.

He felt like he might give in right there, because now that it was just him, her and the wall, he could feel all of her. There was the nightdress, but no smallclothes beneath it, of that he was sure. There was too much heat and bare flesh - his chest, her thighs and legs, her neck, his shoulders, and too many hands - to think coherently.

The relative solitude added even more fuel to their already potent desire. They were hardly ever really alone, even now. There were people everywhere in Skyhold, guards, refugees, members of the Inquisition, but the guard several floors down from them was far enough that Cullen felt alone with Phedre, almost for the first time. It wasn't, but back in Haven when they could sit in the war room or one of the Chantry storerooms for hours without interruption, they hadn't been together.

Now they were, and he felt as if he'd been granted a wish he hadn't realized he'd made. He wanted Phedre, he always had, and now he had her. He had her up against a wall, with a hand raking through his hair and no space between their bodies as they kissed. It was too much, he knew and with an effort, he disengaged. Cullen's whole body protested, but Phedre took the hint quickly. When he set her on the floor and focused on straightening her dress, he almost had control over himself.

"I think I see your point," she said, and then laughed breathlessly as he began to put himself to rights. He wasn't sure whether she was talking about the kissing or something else.

He wasn't sure what to do after that. His skin burned too hot, but Cullen slipped into the tunic anyway, and after a moment of hesitation, Phedre turned away to let him finish dressing. She didn't seem to know what to do with herself for a while, double-checking that lights were doused and rearranging the paperwork that they'd read earlier before getting into bed. When Cullen joined her, she made sure there was space between them, then reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the jaw.

"I thought there was no kissing in bed?" he asked, though he was pleased that she'd broken the rule for a goodnight kiss.

"I said you couldn't. There were never any restrictions set upon me."

"Ah. Well then." He couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Goodnight."

"Sleep well, Phedre," he said, and watched her roll over. 

She drew her blanket up around her shoulders and arranged it so one foot stuck out of the bottom of her nest. He smiled, and rolled over onto his side, laying on top of his own blanket. Normally, he slept on his back, but he had no intention of sleeping. Sleeping led to dreams he couldn't control, nightmares that made him thrash and sweat and call out warnings about dangers that weren't there. Not anymore, at least.

Tomorrow wouldn't be easy on him, not after a sleepless night, but Cullen could endure it. After so many nights spent in vigil or on duty, watching Phedre until her breathing became even and deep was almost an amusement in comparison. She was peaceful in sleep, unlike himself and he liked the way it made her look more like herself. Her face made sleepy scowls and righted itself, then made an almost smile as she dreamt. One night he might be here again, but without all the precautions and worry. That wasn't likely to be any time soon, he knew, but he still looked forward to it, however distant the date was. 

Cullen got out of the bed and went to the window, pulling back the velvet to peek out. The snow was still falling steadily, but in lighter flakes now. Soldiers and workers were already clearing paths to make Skyhold traversable. The cool air came through the cracks of the closed window and soothed his overheated skin, easing his own breath, calming him. Phedre snorted in her sleep behind him, and Cullen smiled. As first nights together went, this wasn't so bad.


	33. Sera's Beehive

He was throwing knives at the dummy in his office again, and the first one hit like normal. Cullen's attention was elsewhere. Phedre was gone again, and he worried. Even field reports in her hand didn't stop the growing concern he had for her safety. No place was safe, he knew that, not while Corypheus was out there. It would have been selfish to suggest that she stay at Skyhold and halt all of her necessary work sealing rifts just so he could have her around.

He did not miss fighting in the field, but he would do it for a chance to spend more time with Phedre. He envied Cassandra her ability to just leave; both of them were gone at the moment. But he would not leave Skyhold unguarded, or their troops untrained, not with some big battle in the barren Western Approach looming in the distance. Until then, he could give her as much support as he could muster. Not think of her in danger, and keep himself busy during the day. Busy throwing things apparently, because he was tired and had to discipline a whole group of recruits this morning, which soured his mood considerably.

The next knife flew from his hand. He had good aim, and despite his frustration and anxiety, it was a good throw. It was the second one that did it, something about the sound it made when it hit was off and Cullen went to investigate.

He would regret that investigation for days afterward. The guards stationed outside heard him yell in surprise and reacted, coming into the room from two different doors. That was probably the smartest thing they did, and it was unintentional - but it gave the bees an exit route from the room and back towards freedom after their confinement inside Commander Cullen's practice dummy. After that, things went decidedly downhill. They started swatting at the bees, making them angry and confused.

"SERA!" Cullen bellowed the name of the only person who could possibly have managed to get a beehive into his dummy with no one noticing. Well, not the only person, he was fairly certain Varric or Cole could have managed it too, but they wouldn't.

He was only cognizant of yelling once, but later one of his men told him that he kept yelling for Sera and about the bees so loudly, it was a wonder they hadn't heard him all the way in Denerim.

But he shouldn't have started shouting, because it tipped her off. When Cullen caught sight of Sera, she was leaping out of her open window. She landed on the ground like a cat; funny how that reminded him of Phedre, she did the same thing when she was around Skyhold. He yelled after Sera and got her cackling laugh in return as she sped off into the distance.

He watched her, but not because he was letting her go; he had to determine her course to cut her off. Once Cullen knew, he was off like an arrow loosed. Cullen ran, probably faster than someone in heavy armor should, the way people run when they aren't saving anything for the return trip. There was speed in him that he barely used, certainly not in training or combat; he was trained for stamina, not bursts of roguish speed like Sera. It was a good thing he'd stowed his weapon earlier, because the blade would have hindered him, kept him cautious when he had no desire to be.

Chasing her made him remember, cleared his mind. All at once he was chasing Rosalie, his sister, with hair almost the same color as Sera's. They were running in a field, and he was dodging plants and rocks, his longer stride eating away at the distance between them despite her best attempts to run. They were playing mages and templars again. Again. For him. It's all he ever wanted to play.

Who was he? Not the same templar from Kirkwall. Maybe he'd become someone closer to the person that had left so enthusiastically for templar training, different, older but the same. Maybe it was just a small crack in the restraint that he so carefully crafted. He hadn't seen Rosalie in years, didn't know her as an adult. Perhaps she was like Sera, wild and mischievous and making him run with bee stings on his face.

So when he caught Sera, he hugged her around the waist with one arm like he used to do to his sister all those years ago. She squirmed, mad and laughing until she was almost free of his grip. His footing slipped and they both tumbled before he could recenter himself. It didn't hurt, at least it didn't hurt when he hit the ground because it wasn't the hardest hit he'd taken that day, but then Sera landed on his chest and knocked the breath out of him with a _whump_. All Cullen could see was sky and ears filled with her laughter, breathier for all their running, but still cackling mirth.

"You're awful," he said, once he could manage speech again.

"You're quicker than you look, even in all that kit," she said. "Didn't think you would chase me, but you feel better now, yea?"

Cullen thought about it, then pushed Sera off his chest. "I do now."

She sat on the ground, laughing at him as he stood up. He winced at the pain in his face, then made a mental note not to do that because it hurt even more. He started to walk back towards his tower, leaving her behind, but grinning as he grumbled. Later, Sera came up to see him, lugging up a bucket of snow.

"Was gonna throw a snowball, but I think _she_ might get mad if I do anything else to your face," she explained.

Were she at Skyhold, Phedre might try to heal him with magic, so it was better than she was gone. With any luck, his face would be back to normal before she returned. He took a handful of snow and glared at Sera, not acknowledging her comment as he applied it to his face. He'd seen more than enough bee stings; he knew how to tend them. The surgeon treating the refugees in the courtyard had given him some salve to take the pain away, but hadn't had ice for the swelling. He'd scraped out the stingers earlier, after his guards had checked that there were no more angry bees hanging around his office or hidden treats from Sera.

"You're welcome, Commander Sullen," Sera said, and then walked towards the door she'd come through.

"Sera?" She turned to look at him, standing more in shadow than in the light. Cullen could barely make out her face.

"How did you get the beehive in there in the first place?" he asked. He had to know. Sera laughed, and kept laughing as she walked out the door.

Maker preserve him, Cullen thought he might just be starting to like Sera.


	34. The Western Approach

His smile was small, but sincere as she said goodbye to him. Knight-Captain Rylen was a delight, and if she weren't quite so smitten with Cullen, the Knight-Captain might catch Phedre's eye. The Western Approach was hard land for him and his troops, and she wanted to make sure it was as safe a possible, no matter what she thought of him personally.

But he was so cute. Phedre almost wished she had an available sister or brother to match him up with, but she wouldn't wish the Trevelyans on anyone so kind. Bad enough that they might expect to meet Cullen one day, if this went on the way it was going. Bah, she was getting ahead of herself -- they hadn't even slept together yet. It was the heat going to her head.

She couldn't let herself think that way, didn't dare dream of something normal with Cullen. There were too many obstacles in the way of that, not the least of which was glowing on her fucking hand right at this moment. The mark. Phedre knew that for all that it let her heal the Breach and close the rifts, she would not like to bear it for the rest of her life, though removing it, especially after what Corypheus had said in Haven, would be near impossible.

"What's that look for, Inquisitor?" Varric asked, breaking her out of her scattered thoughts. 

In the fierce sunlight, his skin was baking, browning in a way that made him seem hard and shiny. Though she'd never seen him in Kirkwall, in her mind's eye she could picture him on the docks there, turned just so he wouldn't witness any strangeness with the loading and unloading of packages, his crossbow resting on his back and his mouth making deals. That was the way Hawke described him, and now Phedre could see it, and just how much he missed his home.

Phedre smiled at him. "Is Knight-Captain Rylen married or otherwise coupled?" she asked.

"I thought you had a thing going with Curly?" Varric countered.

"Not for me," she said, shrugging. "Just general information." 

She'd never played the matchmaker before, not the least of which was because a Circle Tower was an awful place to try for such games. People in close quarters always wound up liking the wrong person or growing sick of each other too quickly.

Varric scratched at the stubble on his chin, looking away from her. "I don't think so. He's still in the Order, though, so there might be Andraste."

"Married to Andraste? He doesn't seem the type. Besides, I thought that was just priests. Templars can marry people."

"No, he doesn't seem like that's his sort of thing. No weird belt buckle or anything," Varric said the last part softly and Phedre wondered of whom he was thinking. 

The moment passes like a lone cloud in front of the sun and she moves off, Phedre still thinking far too much about Rylen. She looked over her shoulder at him. He was no longer standing there where they'd talked, but was returned to his rounds. The soldiers here were in a sorry state. The least she could do was get their well cleaned out.

Varric looked away from her, shook his head and said nothing. He'd been quieter since Hawke had shown up, prompting Cassandra's attempt to punch him. He dodged well. Maker, this was becoming even more of a mess. All of these people, these personalities and pasts and none of them fit, no one knew how to make it all work. That was her job, at least in part, and Josephine's. Maybe she could tell Phedre more, shed some insight into both Rylen and Varric.

Maker knows she wasn't going to find anything in the desert but a bunch of darkspawn and Venatori bodies.

#

Rylen wasn't sure what he thought of the Herald of Andraste after meeting her. He respected that she was fighting the close the rifts, because he was certain that thing on her hand was more powerful than it looked. He didn't question her dedication or intent, but Rylen was rather ashamed that after meeting her, he had more questions about her and the commander. Sure, she was a pretty enough woman, though he himself had never favored redheads. He didn't see what Cullen saw in her, a mage, but then again, the world was turned upside down and it didn't matter much if mages and templars fraternized.

Commander Cullen had been one of the rocks that rebuilt Kirkwall. The Guard-Captain Aveline had relied on him, though she had no reason to trust templars. The Viscountess had called him friend, though she had mages among her inner circle. Time and again, he showed that he was a good commander and a decent man. The people Cullen had saved had grown up into an admiring base around him. Love letters had started trickling into the Gallows, sometimes disguised as thank you notes and nothing more. They'd posted a guard outside Cullen's quarters when a naked elf had found his way to Cullen's bed. He'd come in dressed as a servant.

There had been no shortage of people wanting to love Cullen in Kirkwall, whether it was for a night or a time longer. But the commander had resisted, instead focusing on the work that needed to be done, not his personal gain. But now, Rylen saw his commander falling in love with a woman that had been called a heretic and he had to ask himself what it was Cullen saw in Lady Trevelyan. While she had a nice smile, she'd been scowling almost the whole time they talked. Rylen respected her, but he just didn't see the attraction.

"Knight-Captain!" an out of breath voice called out from behind him. Rylen turned and saw a recruit running up the stairs.

"Report."

"The Inquisitor is fighting darkspawn just to the south. If you stand on the walkway, you can see her."

"Is she in danger?" Rylen asked.

"Not likely. The man at the door thought you'd want to see it."

Rylen thought about it. He hadn't ever seen the Herald fight before. By the time he got to the ramparts, the fight was mostly done. The phoenix they were fighting was on its last legs, desperately swiping at their group. The Inquisitor shot a powerful burst of lightning at it and that, combined with a sword thrust from Seeker Cassandra, finished it. It looked like it had been an impressive fight, from the amount of animal corpses around them. The Western Approach had more dangers than just open rifts. He was sure that it would take a measure of her that he couldn't in the time to come.

That lightning had drawn on tremendous power, so much that Rylen had imagined that he could faintly hear the crackle of it on the ramparts. She was a mage. A powerful, deadly mage, formerly of the Circle but no longer. He didn't know much about Ostwick, though he'd known a few people who got transferred after Starkhaven's Circle burnt down. Maybe he'd ask about her, if he could even find the templars he'd known. It couldn't hurt to look for them, and perhaps bring them into the Inquisition if they weren't already. He would ask Cullen about it in his next report.


	35. Spell Research

Dorian sent back his latest notes to the Inquisitor with a bit of advice attached in his pristine handwriting. He hoped Phedre would heed it.

"There's still some bits to work out in practice. Don't try to do this unless you've got plenty of space. Your ears might pop, so take care." He hoped she would listen to him; Phedre could be so impetuous at times, he could see her trying to do the spell in her bedroom. It would work, naturally, but all of her pretty windows might get blown out in the process.

That done, he went over to Leliana's researcher in the library and requested some more books. Good ones, this time, because this sorry collection of books was hampering all his efforts to create. There were so many history books in the library, but they held so few facts, it was laughable. Most of the books were Chantry sanctioned, sanitized histories of the church, with little to interest or inform. The books of magic were worse, if that could be believed. Since the Circles of Magi rebelled, it seemed they took all of their knowledge with them and left only the dregs behind. Lady Phedre had located some books for Vivienne, and requested a few more from her Circle in Ostwick, but there still wasn't much. Some days he missed the Imperium and his place in the Circle there so much it left an ache within him, but he knew better than to let himself dwell on it. 

The south had its charms, though Dorian was often hard-pressed to remember them. Skyhold's little valley was a beautiful place, until the cold winds came blustering through, bringing rain and snow with it. His little hamlet near the window in the library was warm enough, but there was no fire, nothing that truly made it his. Not like Vivienne and her nook. In truth, he liked the space Vivienne had made for herself in Skyhold. She got to overlook all the action without being part of it, if she didn't want to be.

He sighed. The Inquisitor wasn't subtle, and he was sure that Madame de Fer had another piece of the research he needed for this spell they were ironing out. 

Vivienne wasn't so crass as to pace, but she too was helping the Inquisitor with her spellwork. Unlike Dorian, she was stuck. It was a rare and wonderful challenge to be presented with, and she was confident that she'd think her way through it eventually. Confidence had always served her well before.

It was delightful to work with Lydia's apprentice. Phedre, even if she hadn't become the Inquisitor, was a force to be reckoned with. Phedre reminded Vivienne so much of her old friend. Lydia was much missed, but Phedre was a joy to know. Her restraint and obvious talent had garnered Vivienne's admiration, and her creativity earned Vivienne's caution. 

She needed more resources, and for that she would go to Josephine.

Dorian came to her instead of sending a messenger, with a lot of notes in his hands. He carefully put them down instead of handing them to her, after making a show of looking around her belongings. She simply gave him a smile, and waited for him to speak.

"Vivienne, I've left you some notes on Phedre's spell problem. There are some parts that I couldn't figure out. I think she intended for me to share this with you when she asked me to do it," he said.

Vivienne glanced at the first page of his notes then sat down, shuffling through them.

"I'm sure you did your best, my dear. I'll have a look and see if I can help," she said.

Between her and Dorian, they might actually work through the problem the Inquisitor was having with her ice spells. She was powerful, but raw power didn't mean casting would come easy, or that spells would simply bend under all that power. Thankfully, Phedre had a measure of finesse as well, or there would simply be no point to all this work.

A line caught her eye and Vivienne was lost in thought, carefully going over each part as she made her own notes. Dorian slipped away before she had the chance to ask him any questions, and Vivienne allowed it. She could always send him a note later if he needed to clarify any of his scribblings. 

It was almost like she had her own apprentices back again. This was familiar, and almost like home. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed this, the exchange, the research and the spell notes. Vivienne pulled out parchment to make her own notes. With luck, she could get done before the Inquisitor returned to Skyhold.


	36. Adamant

Hawke is a damn hero. Stroud is her hero, personally and fearlessly saving her life by giving his own. Maker. Phedre feels like she's just playing the part. Jean-Marc Stroud died in the Fade; a Grey Warden so dedicated even his own order couldn't capture him. Watching him fight was like watching a legend as it happened. Like a true bastard, she didn't even know his first name until Varric told her, back in the safety of Skyhold. They don't even have a body to send to the Maker's side, because she trapped him physically in the Fade. 

She wasn't sure what to make of the Warden fortress, not when she was there. There was too much, it was too old, too well-constructed, too much of a fortress to be anything but trouble. The stones were ancient and trembled with power that made her shiver as she walked over them. After, well, afterwards everyone is concerned about the Fade, the spirit or whatever they encounter in there and the fate of the Wardens.

By the time Phedre gets back to Skyhold, she almost is too tired to think. Almost. Her mind hasn't gotten the message that her body would like to rest, and it stays awake, jolting her from sleep when she falls from exhaustion. Demons in Warden armor. Demons from the corrupted blood of those that were supposed to stop the Blight. Leliana told her how Wardens were made, at least as much as she knew. Phedre wished she hadn't.

It was horrible, but more than that, it was possible. An army of demons, just like she'd seen before at Therinfall. Just like Corypheus had planned to march across Orlais. They were Wardens, using their own as puppets for Erimond's bidding. Bile rose in her throat as she thought on it. There had been so much useless blood shed out of fear. 

She never wanted to look at a person and wonder where they hide the demon. Maker, was this what being a templar felt like? That thought was almost enough to undo her. She'd lived in the Circle almost all of her life, but hadn't realized how it felt, what the templars must have been taught about them.

Blackwall said nothing to her, just sat with her, staring into the fire. At some point, he hands her a bottle and she takes a swig without looking down at it. It burned like fire as it rushed down her throat, all heat and potent strength, stealing away her breath. She drank twice more before handing it back. They took turns drinking until there was no more, and then she contented herself by staring into the fire. Maker, she'd walked in the Fade. 

It was morning and she had a mouthful of hay and ashes. The stench of the horses was particularly potent in the cool air, and Phedre was dizzy. She sat up at the sound of voices, but turning her head was impossible.

"Ser Blackwall, I was wondering if you'd seen the Inquisitor?" Josephine asked from some distance away.

Blackwall's voice was so low Phedre didn't hear his response, but she did hear Josephine gasp. She must look a fine mess, face down, ass up in Blackwall's haystack. She didn't care. From somewhere above her a flurry of voices whispered and she hoisted herself up into a sitting position. Ugh, no. Why had she done that? Her head swam and last night's drink came up in her throat to burn her. Light didn't feel good, so she closed her eyes.

"We can't let people see her like this. She won't want Cullen to hear of it."

Phedre tried to snort, but she couldn't quite manage it. Cullen would likely already hear of it, one of them telling him in a low, nervous voice as they express their worry about her. "She won't want Cullen to hear of it." Pfft. As if she did everything for Cullen. Even if she did, she wouldn't care in this moment. The Fade was garbage.

"There are back ways through the palace, but no way of avoiding the main hall," Blackwall mused.

"Lady Vivienne will take care of that. She was the one that was looking for the Inquisitor, to see how she was dealing with the aftermath of their battle and voyage into the Fade."

"I bet she will," Blackwall said, sounding none too happy about that development. "All right, let's go wake the Inquisitor, shall we?" He hadn't noticed her get up, but Josephine had. She whispered something inaudible to Blackwall as they walked over.

Their footsteps led to her, but Phedre couldn't bring herself to lift her head and open her eyes, to confront their faces. She didn't want to sleep, but she absolutely no desire to be aware or moved from her delightful, non-Fade related hay pile. It was lovely. She could live here forever.

"C'mon, Inquisitor. Lady Josephine and I will help you to your own room," Blackwall said. 

"Fuck off," she slurred. Her mouth was too unwieldy. Heavy, weird. What was wrong with her? Blackwall gave a hearty chuckle at her profanity.

"Now, now, Inquisitor, that's no way to talk. Come on, up you go," he said. It was he that hauled her upright and supported most of her weight. Josephine fretted and steered her. Phedre tried to explain that she could walk, but just didn't want to and was hushed properly by Josephine.

The world outside is nothing like the Fade. It was warm and shiny, and nothing about it was fulfilling or easy. Part of her remembered the Fade, the little piece of her that held her mana. It cried to go back, to rejoin the place where it had felt right, whole. Maker, no. She didn't want to die, not yet. Not like Stroud. That poor bastard. Oh Maker, Stroud and all the Wardens. What a damn waste. A hot tear stung her closed eyelid and she felt it roll down her face.

She wasn't aware of going through Skyhold or anything much at all before she was put in her bed. Josephine was standing near her door, and Vivienne was tucking her in with a careful practiced hand. Phedre closed her eyes, praying for a dreamless sleep, so she didn't have to go back to the Fade.

"Please, don't make me go back there," she whispered to Vivienne. 

"You're all right, darling. Well and whole as you were before we went to Adamant. You must not let the fear overtake you." She stroked Phedre's hair away from her face. "Calm yourself, my dear."

It was strange, but there was something about Vivienne that reminded Phedre of Lydia. Just a small similarity, something she couldn't quite place or name right then, but it was there. Maybe it was their shared background or training. She would never be sure, because with Vivienne stroking her hair, Phedre fell into a slightly more peaceful slumber.


	37. Perseverance

'come with every wound  
and every woman you've ever loved  
every lie you've ever told  
and whatever it is that keeps you up at night  
every mouth you've punched in  
all the blood you've ever tasted

come with your kind eyes and weeping knuckles  
come with all your shame  
come with your swollen heart  
i've never seen anything more beautiful than you'  
\- from 'first thought after seeing you smile' by Warsan Shire

Cassandra had begged her to go and speak with Cullen, not just so the Inquisition wouldn't have to find a new commander. Cullen respected Phedre long before he'd cared for her. It was her honor to have him commander her forces, but in this request, Phedre questioned her ability. Not because she didn't feel anything for Cullen or the obvious pain he was enduring, but because she wasn't sure she could help.

Phedre was a mage, and when she took lyrium it fueled something already within her. It felt like it had a natural place within her body, but she never needed it. The few occasions that called for her to take a vial of lyrium were all new to her, only occurring since she'd joined the Inquisition. Some mages did; she knew ones that did not only rely upon it, but liked it. But she didn't know what it was to have a physical dependency on a substance, to feel a dark aching need that dogged her day after day and left pain in its wake. Cullen did. She cared for him, and had to help, as best she could.

When she'd first met him, she only knew that he was a templar, or had been a templar. She'd heard it in the way he spoke to her, the careful way she was kept at a distance until he began to trust her. He'd felt like the Chantry, like discipline backed up by dogma. Whatever his title, he acted like a templar back then, in Haven. There was something familiar and eerie about the way he stood over the yard with perfect poise, watching and training, almost completely still overseer. He'd definitely felt like a templar back then. It was part of who he was, so formative in his persona that he couldn't shed it, even if he had left the order.

There were things they never spoke of together, their relationship too new and tenuous, the world too upset for things as silly as their pasts to matter. But the past did matter, and could not be ignored. He didn't bother her about things that happened before they met, though he was curious whenever she spoke about her time in the sedate Ostwick Circle. She had no idea what being a templar involved other than the glimpses she saw at the Circle. They rarely spoke of magic, the Circles or anything other than the present.

Cullen once mentioned he could feel her power when he was around her after she'd cast, that her magic and whatever aura it radiated over her, crackled like unused energy. She thought nothing of the comment when he said it; it wasn't the first time she'd heard it. Now she wondered what it meant to Cullen, what their relationship might seem to outsiders. Templar and mage dynamics were always difficult, and hers intertwined with her position of power. It all seemed so sordid when viewed from certain angles, but it had been so innocent at first, just the two of them standing too close to be casual, shooting one another awkward smiles.

Templars could know mages, their lives and all their secrets, yet it didn't work the other way. She'd never done more than talk to a few templars, attend her Harrowing and live under their watchful presence. His struggle and pain were foreign to her, burdened her with sympathy for a group she'd never considered much more than custodians before. There was such a high price for both mages and templars when they were kept in Circles. There had to be a better way, but that wasn't her focus. Solving the problems of the world was for every other day, not this moment. Cullen was suffering, and she wanted to figure out what he needed from her, not just what she felt like saying.

She'd gone to him, up to an office filled with guilt and despair, and listened to a broken man voice some of his worst secrets to her. Phedre ardently hoped that it helped him. That had been a few weeks ago, when she herself was still a mess over the events at Adamant. She closed her eyes against the memories of that battle, threatening to overwhelm her mind. It had felt like the wrong time to give him encouragement when she herself was so shaky, so bruised. Before she left they'd spoken again and he thanked her for her understanding, the help in staying free of lyrium.

He'd needed strength, reassurance, and space to figure it all out. His hands shook as she held him, and whatever last reservations she may have held about their relationship started to fragment. Cullen was someone who didn't believe in second chances, not for himself or anyone else. Time was needed to help him sort through that, to understand how second chances, rebounds and do-overs were just the way of life. It was a hard lesson, and one that always had to be learned by the person. Phedre left Skyhold and went back out into the world, because the problems of two people were petty when the world was filled with demons and ruptures between the worlds, yet thoughts of Cullen took up all of her free time.

_Cullen,_   
_I hope this note finds you well. I regret that I'm not at Skyhold right now, but there are still rifts out there to be closed. I wasn't sure how to say it before, and perhaps it's not the best now, but the sentiment is true. You are worthy of the redemption you seek. I know you don't think so, but you are. It's not my place to decide these things. You chose it, to work for it, and I think that makes you worthy. Please Cullen, stay safe and true. The Inquisition could not function without you. I need you as a Commander and I want you in my life. I will be back at Skyhold as soon as possible. I'm looking forward to seeing you._   
_Phedre_

Her thoughts took her all the way back to Skyhold, to Cullen. When she was there, she stood in his doorway and he smiled up at her. Happy, for the first time in such a long time. Whatever sins he'd committed, he deserved some happiness as well.

"Phedre," he said, starting over to her from the bookcase.

"I've just come from the Fallow Mire. You might want to stay back," she admitted. Though on the way she'd washed, the smell of the mire stayed stuck in her clothes.

"Ah, I see. So you've just come to give me smelly greetings?" he asked, still smiling.

"Something like that. How are you, Cullen?"

"I got your note, though it just came two days ago. You weren't gone for long."

"I don't like the swamps much. It doesn't take much time there to want to be gone," she said.

He laughed, leaning against the bookshelf. "True enough. But you came to check on me."

"I did."

"I am well, and things go as they always do when you are away. Too slowly. Our forces -- you don't want an official report now, do you?"

"Not really. I just wanted to see you."

"I'm fine, Phedre, really. There are headaches, and I am tired, though not today. Perhaps the biggest problem with you being gone is that I miss you, and I worry.

"I need to bathe," she admitted with a rueful grin. "Swamp water and horse do not become me. I just needed to see you first."

He braved the stench in order to kiss her, and she left with a promise to meet him on the ramparts later. Phedre smiled as she headed to her quarters, the unsettled feeling that had risen within her after Adamant finally beginning to dissipate.


End file.
